


HMS Maria

by LostCauses (Anteros)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, Corporal Punishment, M/M, Slow Burn, eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/LostCauses
Summary: Chasing smugglers in the English Channel may not have been the gallant naval career Captain Erwin Smith had hoped for, however when he comes across a suspicious brig, he sees an opportunity not just for a prize but to press a man who might make a valuable addition to his crew.An 18th century Eruri Age of Sail AU.





	1. HMS Maria

**Author's Note:**

> The inevitable Eruri Age of Sail AU that I was bound to write eventually. I started this over a year ago, but it's taken me this long to figure out where the plot might go, because I am rubbish at plot. 
> 
> I apologise in advance for liberally plagiarising my Hornblower fics but I'm guessing the crossover between Eruri and Hornblower fandoms is slim to nonexistent so hopefully that won't be too much of a problem. Updates will be erratic because of work, life, blah, but I promise I'll stick with it. 
> 
> I don't want to overburden this with notes, but if you have any questions about the naval terminology or anything else, feel free to ask either here or on [tumblr](http://lostcauses-noregrets.tumblr.com/). Also you can find some dictionaries of nautical terms here: [Sea Talk Nautical Dictionary](http://www.seatalk.info/), [Glossary of Nautical Terms](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_nautical_terms), [Falconers Dictionary of the Marine](http://southseas.nla.gov.au/refs/falc/contents.html).

_HMS Maria, English Chanel, 1801_

“Damn. We’ve lost her captain. She’s got the weather gage and the wind behind her. We’ll never catch her now.” 

“Thank you, Mr Zacharias,” Captain Smith replied as he took the eyeglass from the lieutenant and watched as the tiny speck of white sail disappeared over the horizon. His face remained impassive though he shared his first lieutenant’s frustration. 

“Change course Mr Zacharias, west south west a quarter west.”

“Aye aye, sir, west south west a quarter west.” 

The tall lieutenant saluted, turned to pass the new course to the helmsman and bellowed the order to wear ship. 

The boatswain’s pipe shrilled, and the deck rang to the patter of bare feet as the men ran aloft to reef the sails. The hands took the braces, blocks squealing as the yards swung around, the helmsman put the helm over, and the ship started to turn. Her momentum slowed as she turned, hesitated for a moment, t’gallants luffing, before the wind caught her and HMS _Maria_ settled onto her new course. 

Despite his irritation at loosing his chase, Captain Smith nodded in satisfaction; he had a good ship, a good crew and officers that trusted and respected him. 

Erwin Smith may have run a tight ship but he still had a reputation for being a progressive captain. He was slow to use the lash but did not tolerate indiscipline or insubordination and he didn’t hesitate to punish where punishment was due. It was an approach that gained respect; Captain Smith respected his men, and that respect was returned tenfold. 

HMS _Maria_ had once been one of the fastest ships in her class; a Cruizer class brig, she was seaworthy, manoeuvrable and armed with eighteen heavy guns. Her sixteen 32-pound carrondades gave her a devastating short range broadside of over five hundred pounds, and with two long-range bow chasers she was a force to be reckoned with. In her heyday her officers maintained she was the finest ship to swim and the men swore she could do everything but talk. But now the _Maria_ was old and crank, her seams leaked, she rolled heavily in high seas and had a frustrating tendency to miss stays. But she was Smith’s first command and he had done all he could for her; shifting her ballast, altering the rake of her masts and configuration of her sail plan until she could almost reach the speeds of her glory days. He’d set the carpenter and his mates to work, pitching and caulking every seam, and though she was still a wet ship, at least the men slept in dry hammocks most nights. Which was more than could be said for his own cramped cabin where the deck head leaked and dripped continually into a small canvas cot that was a good foot too short for him. Still, his own comfort was of secondary consideration to that of his men. 

Erwin Smith did his best with what he was given, which was just as well, because the world had not given him much and he had worked his way up to his current position largely on his own merits. Initially Erwin’s prospects had looked modestly promising. His father, a school master, had the foresight to place his name on the books of a ship captained by a friend of the family. By the time Erwin joined the Royal Navy at the age of fourteen he already had four years of alleged service under his belt by virtue of his name being carried on the books of a ship that he had never seen. The false muster rankled with the principled boy, however it was common enough practice, so young Erwin learned to swallow his misgivings and accept what little help he could get to set his foot upon the ladder. It was little enough. Erwin’s father had died suddenly during the boy’s first cruise, his fickle friends turned their back on his struggling widow, and what little interest Mr Midshipman Smith possessed had disappeared like haar before the sunrise. Erwin had little choice but to make the best of it and shift for himself. And so he did. He was smart, resilient and resourceful and proved to be a natural seaman. Never one to shirk action, he had quickly caught the eye of his commanding officer who put him forward for his examination for lieutenant at the earliest opportunity. 

By the age of nineteen Lieutenant Smith was serving as fourth lieutenant aboard the Admiral’s flagship. For a young officer without patronage or interest it was as promising a berth as could be wished for. However Erwin chaffed at the inaction that was typical of the flagship, yearning for a commission with greater opportunity of seeing action, of winning glory and the hallowed promotion to post captain. What Erwin desired above all else was a commission in a cruising frigate and the freedom to take the fight to the enemy. And eventually through persistence, perseverance and more than a little judicious flattery and manipulation, Erwin got his way. Every opportunity for action he seized with both hands and it didn’t take long for him to distinguish himself. Volunteering to lead shore-based operations, he took out several signal stations on the enemy’s coast with minimal casualties and loss of life and was rewarded with promotion to post captain and his first command, HMS _Maria_. 

His first act as captain of the brig was to write to the Admiralty to request Mr Mike Zacharias as his first lieutenant. Mike Zacharias was a born seaman. Quite literally so. The son of a sailing master, he had been born between the great guns on the lower deck of a 74 as she weathered the Cape. He’d been barely a year old when he first crossed the line and had been at sea almost continually ever since. Unlike Erwin, Mike had no need for false muster when he presented his certificates at the Admiralty to pass his examination for lieutenant. 

Mike and Erwin had first met aboard a ship of the line when Erwin was a fresh-faced midshipman, wet behind the ears and green around the gills. Mike had immediately taken the boy under his wing, shielding him from the worst excesses of the midshipman’s berth, and helped to see him through his first few years at sea relatively unscathed. 

If Erwin had little interest, Mike had even less. Though he had successfully made the transition from warrant to commissioned officer, he lacked the influence to rise further than the rank of lieutenant. As a junior captain, Erwin could not promote his friend, but at the very least he could pluck him from the obscurity of the Portsmouth guard ship where he’d been languishing as third lieutenant for the last year. Though it might have rankled with other less equanimous men, Mike was only too glad to server under his former messmate as first lieutenant of the _Maria_. 

So by the age of twenty-six Erwin had the single epaulette of a junior post captain, a weatherly ship, a tight crew, and a reputation as a gifted and intelligent sea officer, but there his naval career stalled. Despite his undoubted seamanship and talent for cool strategic thinking, many of the old order of officers viewed him with something approaching distaste. In too many influential circles Captain Smith was regarded as an uppity commoner who didn’t know his place, and had already risen too far above his station. Worse still, he was too clever by half. His men may have trusted him with their lives, but the same could not be said of his superiors. And that was why Erwin Smith found himself stationed in the home waters of the Channel keeping an eye on smugglers rather than paroling Brest Roads with the inshore fleet or flying down the coast of Brittany with the detached frigate squadrons. Still, opportunity was what you made of it and Erwin Smith was nothing it not resourceful. 

 

Erwin frowned as he double-checked the figures set out in neat columns in the ledger spread open on the little writing desk wedged into the captain’s day cabin. The cabin was tiny, the desk smaller still, and Erwin’s large frame dwarfed his surroundings. After an average boyhood, he had suddenly grown into his full height at the age of sixteen. After frequent painful collisions with the deck head and months of mild concussion, Erwin had quickly learned to stoop at all times below deck. Even though, he still appeared outlandishly large for the confines of the brig’s aft cabin. 

“Johnston, ” he called to the Marine outside his door, “pass the word for Dr Zoe.” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” the Marine responded smartly and Erwin heard his bellow echoing through the ship. “Pass the word for Dr Zoe!” 

The ship was so small that Erwin’s own voice would likely have carried all the way to the doctors quarters in the cockpit below but he was the captain and protocol had to be observed if discipline was to be maintained, even in a ship this small. Especially in a ship this small, where officers and men lived cramped together, one on top of the other with little opportunity to maintain their dignity and station. However impractical it may be in a ship this size, and as much as it rankled with Erwin, the captain was expected to keep himself apart, aloof from his people. 

Dr Zoe, the ship’s surgeon, had no such concerns with either protocol or dignity. They breezed into the cabin a few minutes later smelling strongly of rubbing alcohol and camphor, with suspicious looking stains on the front of their apron that the captain did not care to know the nature of. 

“What’s up Erwin?” They asked without ceremony, plonking themselves down on the 18-pound long gun that took up most of the space in the aft cabin. 

“Hanji…” Erwin rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably, “how many times do I have to tell you not to sit on the guns? It sets a bad example and drives the gunner to distraction.” 

“Oh! Sorry,” Hanji hopped off the gun and settled on the chest in front of the small stern windows instead. 

“That little brig give you the slip again?”

“Indeed she did.” Erwin sighed.

“Maybe you should give up on her Erwin, is she really worth the trouble?”

“Probably not, but I’m convinced she’s smuggling.”

“What makes you so sure?” 

“Every time we catch sight of her she always changes course, but not so obviously as to attract attention. Whoever her captain is, he knows these waters and he knows his business. The way she changed tack today though, she was definitely running. Mark my words Hanji,” Erwin tapped the desk with his forefinger to emphasise his point, “she’s carrying something, something valuable and if we could just bring her to heel, that cargo could be worth a pretty penny.”

“Really Erwin?” the doctor eyed him with obvious disapproval, “since when did you care so much about prize money? I thought you were above such petty trifles?” 

“I wish I could be,” Erwin ran his hand over his eyes and turned the ledger around so the doctor could see the figures.

“As you can see from the gunner’s accounts the powder magazine has all but run dry. If you are to continue your experiments with improving the gun sights, we need more powder.” 

“But…” Hanji frowned as they ran their eye down the column of figures before glancing up at the captain, “can’t you just get more powder from the gun wharf?”

“Dr Zoe,” Erwin laughed mirthlessly, “your faith in the Navy Board touches my heart but alas, we ran through our allotment of powder long since.”

The doctor looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“So where did the rest of the powder come from?

“I paid for it,” Erwin answered lightly. 

“Jesus Christ Erwin, you mean you paid for all that powder I’ve been burning through testing the new sights?”

“Yes, it’s worth every penny though. If you can improve the accuracy and range of our guns, then we have a better chance of every shot hitting home, and of minimising our own casualties. If it saves lives, it’s worth it.”

“Even so Erwin…damn…” the doctor pushed their spectacles up onto their forehead and wrinkled their nose as they peered at him. “How much money have you spent? It’s not like you have much to spare.”

“No,” Erwin agreed ruefully, “I don’t. And that’s why we have to catch that little brig.”


	2. Storm

“We’ll have a blow before middle watch is out, you mark.” 

Lieutenant Zacharias tilted his head back and sniffed the stiff breeze that was whipping up white foam crests along the _Maria_ ’s quarter, sending spray flying across the quarterdeck. 

Captain Smith hummed and nodded.

“I don’t doubt it. We’re due one.” 

They were a day shy of the summer equinox and Erwin Smith had spent long enough at sea to expect the coming of an equinoctial gale, even if he didn’t have his first lieutenant’s nose and the falling glass to remind him.

“Douse the galley fire, prepare to batten down hatches, and rig lifelines fore and aft Mr Zacharias,” the captain ordered. 

“Aye aye captain,” Zacharias saluted but before he could turn away there was a cry from the masthead.

“Sail ho! It’s the brig!” The lookout shouted from the main top. “Hull up to leeward!” 

A bolt of anticipation shot through Erwin as he leapt into the shrouds and scrambled up to get a better look. It had been three weeks since they’d last sighted the brig and she’d shown them a clean pair of heels, disappearing over the horizon with the crew’s hopes of prize money. Erwin trained his glass on the speck of sail, one arm hooked into the shrouds as the deck swung below him. There was no doubt it was her, he’d recognize her sail plan and dainty black hull from any distance. It may have been weeks since he’d seen the little ship but she had never been far from his thoughts. Something about her audacity in eluding him, the insolent way she always slipped out of reach, had worked its way under his skin. He lay awake in his cot at night wondering about the brig, wondering what cargo she was carrying, wondering about her captain, about the man was who kept slipping through his fingers like water. If he was being honest, Erwin would have to admit it was no longer about the prize, though he was dead certain she was smuggling, it had become a point of honour now. Erwin Smith was a man of uncommon zeal and determination and when he set his mind to something he saw it through to the end, no matter what. He was quick witted and intelligent and he did not take kindly to being bested, especially not by a common smuggler. And now there she was, lying right within his grasp and the _Maria_ with the weather gauge. But even with that advantage, Erwin knew not to take anything for granted, the brig’s captain had shown time and time again what a gifted seaman he was as he put his little ship through her paces and left the _Maria_ standing. 

“Give chase, nor’ nor’ west. All hands on deck!” Captain Smith bellowed as he tumbled out of the shrouds like a skylarking midshipman. Regaining his decorum, he took up station on the larboard side of the quarter deck, glass trained on the chase. The _Maria_ had barely settled on her new course when the brig sprang into life. They were close enough for Erwin to be able to see the flurry of activity on her deck as she loosed her topsails and prepared to flee. But this time, rather than darting away over the waves light as a cockle shell, the brig luffed and lost way, wallowing in the increasingly heavy seas, her main topsail hanging limp and lopsided in a tangle of rigging. 

“We’ve got her now!” Zacharias cried. “She’s fouled her head earing, they’ll never clear that mess before we’re on her.”

But just as the first lieutenant finished speaking, through his glass, Erwin could make out a tiny dark figure ascending aloft with impossible speed. 

“I’m not so sure, look at that.” 

“Well I’ll be…looks like a damn monkey!” Zacharias exclaimed.

Erwin let the profanity go, all his attention focused on the distant figure as it ran out along the yard giving no heed to foot ropes or stirrups. By this time, the _Maria_ ’s hands were clustered along the larboard rail, all eyes on the brig. 

The figure crouched precariously at the end of the yard, and suddenly the sail dropped free. The men on deck took the braces, the sail filled, and the little ship leapt forward. But seconds later a huge cross sea slammed into the brig’s quarter and she rolled wildly to starboard. With his glass still fixed on the brig’s topmast, Erwin watched with detached horror as the small figure teetered on the end of the yard for a suspended moment and then fell, tumbling through the air. Erwin held his breath, waiting to see the splash as the poor soul hit the waves that leapt up to meet him. But somehow, at the last conceivable moment, the figure twisted in the air, caught a flying sheet and, using the momentum of the loose cable, swung himself back aboard and dropped neatly to the deck. Along the _Maria_ ’s quarter a ragged cheer went up. 

Within seconds the brig was away, skipping over the crest of the waves, leaving the _Maria_ wallowing in her wake 

“God damn it!” Erwin swore, thumping his fist down hard on the rail in an uncharacteristic loss of restraint. 

Beside him, Mike snorted a short laugh and rubbed his nose. “Monkey or no, whoever he is, he’s got the luck of the devil that one.”

Though it smarted to loose the brig yet again, Erwin couldn’t help having a grudging admiration for the man who had performed such an astonishing feat of acrobatics and saved his ship to boot. 

There was no time for the captain to dwell on their loss that night, nor the following day, nor indeed the night after. Just as Lieutenant Zacharias had predicted, the gale came roaring up the Channel out of the west just after the first bell of middle watch. The storm hit the Maria broad on her beam but she was well prepared to meet it, rigged in storm trim with guns secured and hatches battened down. The captain was on deck in seaboots and old tarpaulin boat cloak and there he stayed through the night and the storm as the _Maria_ ran before the gale. 

Thundering head seas broke over her bows in torrents as the ship pitched through the towering waves. More than once Erwin feared she’d go right over on her beam ends and that would be the end of all of them. As the gale came howling athwart the deck, officers and hands alike clung desperately to the lifelines and weather bulwarks, anything to keep their footing on the pitching deck. On the quarterdeck, Erwin gripped the mizzen shrouds with hands that were numb with cold and slippery with salt water. Such was the fury of the gale and the spray that flew over the deck in floods that he could barely make out the men at the con a few feet in front of him. The master had six hands at the wheel and even then they had to fight with all their strength to keep the ship on course. 

“Hard down the helm!” Captain Smith cried, as the wind suddenly shifted and a huge sea crashed into the _Maria_ abaft the beam. The ship rolled wildly, larboard yards skimming the foaming crest of the waves. The wind whipped the words from the captain’s mouth but the master knew his business, the wheel turned slowly and the Maria groaned and shuddered as she righted herself to fly once more before the storm.

The night was endless but eventually the day dawned, dull and foreboding, the sky obscured by heavy scudding clouds, dark as bruises, that bled into a cold grey sunrise. Still the storm raged on, howling through the rigging like the spirit of vengeance. 

The _Maria_ was a weatherly sea boat but she was shipping water fast and by noon the carpenter reported two feet of water in the hold and rising. Every man that could be spared took their turn at the pumps, the captain not excepted. Leaving the deck to Zacharias, Erwin went below, stripped off his sopping cloak and jacket, rolled up his sleeves and set his hand to the pump. When the bell sounded and he was relieved by one of the quarter gunners a half hour later, he was fatigued to the bone and deafened by the ceaseless clatter of the chain pump. As he made his way back on deck, cold sweat was running down his back, sticking his already soaking shirt to his skin. By the time he ascended the quarterdeck companion, Erwin was shivering uncontrollably beneath his wet boat cloak. The first lieutenant took one look at him and pulled a small flask of brandy from his pocket, handing it to him wordlessly. Erwin accepted the flask gratefully, relishing the spirit as it burned down his throat, warming him from within. 

“You’re a godsend Mike,” he clapped his friend on the shoulder and handed back the flask. 

Mike nodded and tilted his head back, squinting into the slanting rain and flying spray. 

“She’ll blow herself out before nightfall,” he sniffed. 

“I’d be glad of that,” Erwin replied. “Why don’t you go below and get some rest?” 

“Is that an order captain?” 

“I can make it one if it will get you off my deck.” 

Mike snorted a laugh before saluting and retreating down the companion, barely breaking his stride as the deck pitched wildly beneath his feet. 

Sure enough, by second dog watch the fury of the storm had abated and by the end of first watch Erwin ordered two reefs to be shaken out of the topsails. He was soaked to the skin and dead on his feet but before he could even think of resting he needed to see to his men and his ship. He ordered the galley fires to be re-lit and every man to be issued with an extra ration of grog and then passed the word for his warrant officers. 

The gunner, a bluff northerner with a tarred queue that hung the length of his back, reported first. Two of the guns had torn free of their breechings and had been saved only by the additional cables lashing them to the deck. Had either broken free at the height of the storm it could have been disastrous. Several tons of metal careering around the gun deck would be fatal for anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way, and if a loose gun had pitched right through the hull of the ship it would have sent them to the bottom. 

The carpenter reported much less damage than Erwin feared. A good number of seams had sprung but the carpenter’s mates had been hard at work throughout the storm sealing and caulking the leaks, the cutter had been stove in and the fore topmast had almost been carried away and was saved only by the quick actions of a master’s mates who got a noose round the mast to hold it in place. Erwin took a mental note of the mate’s name in order to commend him in his next dispatch to the Admiralty. 

Last came the doctor, staggering across the deck and almost pitching headfirst into the binnacle. Despite years afloat Dr Zoe had never quite found their sealegs, not that it seemed to be a hindrance to them. 

“Hey Erwin!” they called cheerfully, lurching towards the captain, “you look like shit!”

Erwin groaned silently and rolled his eyes. While he was perfectly happy to accept Hanji’s idiosyncrasies in private, and may indeed have found them refreshing, Erwin well understood the fragile chain of rank and command that was the mainstay of discipline aboard any ship. If any one link in that chain was weakened then the integrity of the whole structure was threatened. For better or for worse, protocol and discipline had to be maintained.

“Not in front of the men,” the captain chided as the doctor stumbled to a halt at the weather rail by his side. 

“Oh sorry!” Hanji replied, detaching themselves from the rail to salute in a lopsided fashion. “You look like shit captain sir!”

Erwin shook his head and sighed. 

“How are my men Dr Zoe?” 

“Mostly in one piece. Lots of scrapes and minor contusions, as you would expect. Nothing too serious apart from one seaman with a severe concussion and Dietrich.” 

“Dietrich? Captain of the mizzen top?”

“Yes, compound fracture of the tibia and severe contusion of the pelvis.”

“Can you patch him up?”

“I’ve set his leg as best I can, not easy in this weather I can tell you. But he wont be going aloft again for quite some time. If ever.” They added grimly. “You need to put him ashore at the first opportunity if he’s to have any chance of recuperating.” 

“I’ll see to it.” Erwin replied, brows creasing into a deep frown.

The loss of an experienced topman was a serious blow. The topmen were stationed in the mast tops where they were responsible for setting and working the sails. In battle and in heavy weather the fate of the ship often depended on the strength and alacrity of the topmen. Quick, agile, immensely strong and utterly fearless, topmen were the elite of the crew. Erwin was lucky to have a full complement of loyal men aboard the _Maria_ , in no small measure due to his reputation as a fair and just captain, and while there wasn’t a single shirker among them, he’d struggle to replace the captain of the mizzen top. Still, there was nothing that could be done about it now. 

“Thank you Dr Zoe, we’ll send Dietrich to Hasslar when we return to Portsmouth.” 

Erwin dismissed the doctor and, leaving the deck under the command of the _Maria_ ’s second lieutenant Flagon Darlett, finally went below to his cabin. As he closed the door behind him, the fatigue of the previous two days hit him with such force that it was all he could do to stagger to his cot on legs that felt heavy as lead. He peeled off his soaking clothes and without even bothering to pull on a night shirt, fell shivering into his cot. Despite the cold and the damp, oblivion claimed Erwin instantly and he slept like the dead through the middle watch. 

In spite of his exhaustion, years of habit roused Erwin an hour before dawn. He rose reluctantly, every joint and muscle protesting and stumbled to the washstand where he poured some cold water from the pitcher for his morning ablutions. By the time he had washed and shaved perfunctorily, and dressed in dry clothes, his steward had arrived with a pot of fresh coffee for which Erwin was immensely grateful. 

It was still dark when Erwin went on deck but the first hint of dawn was already colouring the horizon. The second lieutenant saluted wearily as the captain ascended the quarterdeck companion and took up his habitual station on the weather side of the deck.

“Anything to report lieutenant?”

“All quiet sir,” Darlett replied, stifling an ill concealed yawn, “the wind’s moderating but there’s still a heavy swell.”

Mike Zacharias appeared on deck a moment later to relieve the grateful lieutenant of the watch. He joined the captain at the rail and the two men watched in silence as daybreak crept over the horizon and darkness faded into a pale washed out dawn. 

And there, plain for all to see in the first light, lying right on the _Maria_ ’s beam, was the little brig. At such close quarters, Erwin’ could clearly see the brig’s name, picked out in white on her stern, _Rose_ , and at her helm, a small dark haired man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on watches…. Time aboard Royal Navy warship was measured in watches which ran as follows: first watch 20.00 – 24.00, middle watch 00.00 – 04.00, morning watch 04.00 – 08.00, forenoon watch 08.00 – 12.00, afternoon watch 12.00 – 16.00, first dog watch 16.00 – 18.00, second dog watch 18.00 – 20.00. Each watch was divided up into half hourly intervals marked by a bell. So six bells middle watch is 03.00, four bells afternoon watch is 14.00, etc. If you’re that way inclined, you can get an app that will mark the watch bells and drive your friends and loved ones to distraction.


	3. The Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be the ACWNR chapter...

The brig _Rose_ lay just off the _Maria_ ’s quarter, her deck littered with fallen spars and cables. Her main mast had gone by the board and was lying over the side in a tangle of rigging, halting her way as surely as if she had dropped anchors fore and aft. There she lay, wallowing in the heaving swell like a bird with a clipped wing. That she had survived the storm at all was nothing short of a miracle and, as Erwin watched the activity on deck, he suspected it was in no small part due to the man at the helm who was directing his crew with focus and determination that belied what must surely have been two long, storm wracked days and nights on deck. The crew were already working furiously to clear away the storm debris and jury rig a new main mast before the pale day broke and revealed the _Maria_ lying right on the brig’s stern. 

“Mr Zacharias,” the captain turned to his first lieutenant and it was a struggle to keep his voice steady, “put a shot across her bows. She’s in no shape for a chase and I’m in no mood.”

“Aye, aye captain.” Zacharias replied and passed the order to the guncrew. 

The _Rose_ may not have been in any shape for a chase, but that did not mean she was willing to give up without a fight. In the time it had taken Erwin to issue the order, the man at the helm had leapt onto the gunwale, seized a boarding axe from one of the men working to clear the fallen mast, and with three ferocious blows, hacked the wreckage free. The cables parted with a resounding crack and the damaged mast tore free. Released suddenly from the grip of the wreckage, the brig sprang forward but the force was too great for her make-shift mast and with a rending crash it toppled overboard just as the report of the stern chaser reverberated across the _Maria_ ’squarterdeck and the round shot splashed harmlessly in front of the brig’s bows.

“Bring her to and prepare to board Mr Zacharias,” the captain of the Maria ordered, and this time, Erwin could not keep the satisfaction from his voice. 

Barely a half hour later Captain Erwin Smith was picking his way through the wreckage strewn across the deck of the brig _Rose_. She was listing to starboard, scuppers overflowing, filthy bilge water sluicing over the deck. Zacharias had already boarded with a company of Marines to secure and search the prize. By the time Erwin stepped aboard, the brig’s company was assembled in the waist, Marines drawn up on either side, the imposing figure of Lieutenant Mike Zacharias standing in front with his sword drawn. 

“Report please, Mr Zacharias,” the captain said as he stepped up beside his first lieutenant. 

“Brig _Rose_ sir, carrying a cargo of wool from St Mary’s to Bristol.”

He handed the captain a cargo manifest. Erwin glanced over it and looked up. 

“You’ve searched the cargo hold?”

“Aye sir, the hold’s swimming and the cargo’s spoiled but I had the Marines bayonet the bales to check there’s nothing there. It’s all above board, sir.” 

“Hmmm,” Erwin nodded, tapping the manifest against his palm, “and the ship’s papers?” 

“Nothing sir. Not in the cabin, nor on any of the men.” 

Erwin cast his eye over the crew, standing sullen and exhausted before him. Most of them appeared little more than boys. In their midst, stood a short dark haired man who Erwin recognized as the figure he’d seen at the helm. His hands were chained behind his back and he was scowling furiously. Erwin frowned at that. Whatever the man’s crimes, he was a prisoner of His Majesty’s Royal Navy and, as such, should be treated with the dignity afforded to all such prisoners. 

“Is that necessary?” Erwin asked.

“Aye, sir.” Zacharias replied ruefully, pulling a long knife from his belt and handing it to the captain. The blade was worn and notched but honed to lethal sharpness. Erwin regarded it for a moment, before nodding and handing it back to the lieutenant.

“You’re the captain?” He addressed the shackled man directly. 

The man glared back at him but did not reply. Erwin ignored his silence and turned back to his lieutenant.

“You’ve checked the hold you say. Thoroughly?”

“Aye sir, thoroughly.” 

“And the water casks? You’ve checked them for spirits?” 

Secreting small casks and bottles of spirits in water butts was a common smugglers’ ploy.

“All but one of the casks are stove in sir, and we checked that one.”

“And the powder locker?”

“No sir,” Zacharias shook his head somewhat sheepishly. 

“Check the powder locker Mr Zacharias.” 

“Aye aye captain.” 

The tall lieutenant went below, almost folding himself in two to squeeze down the small companion hatch. 

Erwin remained on deck and observed the man who he took to be the captain of the brig. The man who had been eluding him for months, plaguing his waking thoughts and restless nights, and now here he was, his prisoner, standing chained in front of him, and Erwin couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. There wasn’t much to him to be honest. He was a good head shorter than Erwin, small and lithe with the hard compact strength of a man who had spent his life at sea. His shoulder length black hair fell forward over his face where it had escaped from its queue, fine dark stubble shaded his jaw and deep purple shadows circled eyes as grey as winter seas. Despite his short stature and the indignity of his shackled wrists, the small man had an imposing bearing. His cool gaze radiated defiance and he met the captain’s eyes boldly, chin tilted upwards, neither cowed nor defeated. But for all his audacity, he was clearly exhausted and Erwin couldn’t help feeling a touch of compassion for the man, wondering when he had last eaten or slept. 

Erwin was still pondering his prisoner when Zacharias emerged from the hold carrying a canvas powder cartridge. He handed it wordlessly to the captain, nose twitching. Erwin raised the cartridge cautiously to his nose and sniffed. Instead of the familiar metallic tang of gunpowder, he was met by an unexpectedly fresh, earthy aroma. He raised his brows in surprise, aware that the smaller man’s eyes had never once left his face. 

“May I have that knife if you please Mr Zacharias?”

The blade sliced through the heavy fabric with ease and a stream of fine black tea poured out of the cartridge and was caught by the wind, which sent it billowing across the deck like smoke. 

The man in front of him made a small disapproving sound, but otherwise remained impassive. 

“Tea?” Erwin made little attempt to hide his amusement. “You’re smuggling tea? Clever. Fine tea too I’ll warrant, though I’m no judge.” 

This time the man made his distain clear with a soft “tch” and a small toss of his head. Tea was a lucrative and expensive commodity, with the taxman collecting four shillings on every pound sold through legal channels. 

“This will fetch a fine price in the fashionable establishments of Bristol no doubt.” Erwin continued. “I admit I applaud your ingenuity, if not your scruples. Now, tell me your name.”

The man continued to glare at Erwin but did not respond. There was a moment of tense silence before he hit the deck with a heavy thud as Zacharias pushed him roughly to his knees.

“Speak when the captain addresses you,” he growled. 

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Erwin repeated calmly, “your name please?”

“You bastard,” the man snarled. 

Before he could blink he was face down on the deck, Zacharias’ huge hand fisting in his hair. There was a sudden flash of movement to Erwin’s left as one of the ship’s boy’s launched himself at the lieutenant with a squawk only to be caught and held back by a tall fair haired young man who whispered something in his ear. The boy squirmed unhappily, angry tears trailing down his dirty face.

The man on the deck turned his head and glared up at Erwin. Erwin regarded him calmly for a moment before nodding to his lieutenant. With a great deal more force than necessary, Zacharias yanked the man’s head up. He gasped, as he came up, dark hair falling forward over his eyes in wet tails, his face streaming with filthy water. 

Erwin dropped to one knee in front of him, heedless of the bilge water sluicing over the deck and soaking into his white breeches. 

“My name is Captain Erwin Smith, and you are?” 

The man frowned, thin brows pulling together over dark eyes. 

“Levi,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Levi…” the name felt foreign in the captain’s mouth, “why don’t we make a deal?” 

“A deal?” 

“I’ll let your crimes go unpunished, in return, lend me your strength. Join my crew.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

“The customs officers will have you, and considering your crimes, you and your crew won’t be treated very nicely. It’s your choice.”

Levi paused, and when he spoke again his voice was low. 

“If I join your crew, what will happen to my men?”

There were many captains in the service who would have been glad of the opportunity to press a whole crew of experienced seamen, but the _Maria_ already had a full complement and could carry no more. 

“They’ll go to the receiving ship in Portsmouth and from there to other ships of the fleet.” Erwin answered. 

“That doesn’t sound like much of a deal,” Levi said. 

“Perhaps not, but it strikes me you’re in no position to bargain.”

Levi shrugged his shoulders. 

“You want a deal? Let my men go and then I’ll join your crew.” 

Erwin considered the man kneeling in front of him, proud and defiant in spite of the filthy water running down his face and the hand fisting in his hair, the man who had let him a merry dance with such skill and courage. It was an easy choice.

“All right. I’ll see that they’re set ashore before we reach Portsmouth.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Zacharias, but the captain silenced him with a glance. Levi peered at the captain intently with narrowed eyes. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Erwin replied, “my word should be enough.”

There was a piercing intensity to the man’s gaze that Erwin had rarely encountered, and it left him feeling oddly exposed. 

“Fine,” Levi spat, shaking his head and spattering dirty water across the deck. “I’ll join your crew.” 

Erwin sat in the stern sheets of the gig beside Lieutenant Zacharias as the boat crew pulled them across the heaving swell to the _Maria_. Levi was perched in the bows alongside two of his men who he had insisted on taking with him; the tall fair youth and the small red haired boy who was still glaring at the naval officers as though he meant to take them both on single handedly. 

“Considering he’s a criminal and a prisoner to boot, he’s a demanding little shit.” Zacharias commented quietly. 

“Considering he’s lost his ship, and we’ve gained an experienced seaman, I think we can give him some leeway Mike.” Erwin replied. 

The lieutenant sniffed and sighed. “I wish I knew what went on in that head of yours sometimes Erwin.” 

Darlett was waiting by the side as the captain came aboard, followed by the first lieutenant, the pressed men and finally the boat crew. 

“Lieutenant Darlett,” the captain said, “we have three new recruits to join us. Take them below, show them the ropes, and then see to it that they report to my cabin by six bells afternoon watch.” 

“Aye aye sir!” Darlett saluted the captain crisply before turning to the three men and bawling “All right you dirty bootleggers, I know you’ve spent your lives aboard filthy smugglers’ scows,” he jerked his thumb towards the _Rose_ , where she lay off the _Maria_ ’s quarter, “but you’re in His Majesty’s Royal Navy now, so you’d better sharpen up, keep your kit ship shape and your noses clean.”

“What did you just say?” Levi hissed, his hand flying to the empty knife sheath at his belt as he rounded on the officer. 

“Don’t you take that tone with your superior officer!” Darlett barked, pulling himself up to his full height and glaring down at the shorter man, which somehow had the opposite effect than intended. Levi stood his ground and stared up at him with cool defiance, but before he could respond, the fair youth was dragging him away, muttering something quietly under his breath. Levi gave Darlett one last furious scowl, turned and followed reluctantly. 

Erwin watched the scene with interest, challenging an officer was insubordination and punishable by flogging, however he could sympathise with the man. From what she had seen of the _Rose_ she was far from a filthy scow, even in her shattered state Erwin could tell she was a tidy little ship, neat and smart as a pin. A man could be forgiven for taking offence at an insult to his ship, however Erwin made a mental note to keep an eye on Levi for any further signs of defiance. 

As the three pressed men followed Darlett forward, the captain ascended the quarterdeck followed by the first lieutenant. 

“Mr Zacharias, send the carpenter and two mates aboard the prize to rig a new mast. See to it that she’s wind and water tight, then put a prize crew of six aboard her with Mr Midshipman Nanaba in command.” 

“Aye aye sir,” Zacharias replied. Looking over the rail at the shattered Rose, he wrinkled his nose. “She’s not much of a prize, you think she’s worth it? I’d as soon as scuttle her.”

“Oh I think she’s worth it,” Erwin replied, though he wasn’t looking at the little brig, his gaze was following the small dark figure who was just disappearing from view down the forward hatch. 

Erwin was seated at his desk, the muster book of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_ open before him, when there was a sharp knock on the cabin door, just as the bell sounded the end of afternoon watch.

Lieutenant Darlett stooped to enter followed by the three pressed men. 

“Volunteers reporting for muster, sir, ” he announced, doing his best to salute in the confined space. 

“Thank you, Mr Darlett. Dismissed.” 

The lieutenant saluted again and backed out of the small cabin.

Erwin eyed his new crewmen. All three were washed and neatly dressed in new clothes from the ship’s slop chest. The red haired boy, the youngest of the three by some margin, was fidgeting nervously, his large green eyes darting around the cabin taking everything in. The tall fair youth, stooping slightly to avoid the deck head, stood close by his side, calm but watchful. Levi stood off to the side, arms crossed in in an obvious gesture defiance. He had washed and shaved, his dark hair tied in a neat queue at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, and he wore a pristine white neckerchief tied high around his collar. Without several day’s worth of stubble, grime and salt, he looked considerably younger than Erwin had guessed. 

Erwin removed a small chest from the drawer of his desk, opened it, counted out twenty-one pounds and placed the coins on the desk in front of him in three neat piles. The boy’s eyes grew wide. Levi’s expression remained unreadable. 

“My name is Captain Erwin Smith of His Majesty’s Ship _Maria_.” Two heads nodded, two grey eyes regarded him coolly. “The bounty for volunteers joining His Majesty’s Navy at a time of war is five pounds plus two months wages in advance. That’s seven pounds for each of you if you choose to join as volunteers. Otherwise you’ll be mustered as pressed men and you’ll get nothing but your wages in arrears. What do you choose?”

Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I guess we’ll choose to volunteer then.” 

“Very good.” Erwin replied. “Your name?” he turned to the fair youth first. 

“Farlan Church.” 

Erwin entered the name in the muster book in his looping script. 

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Place of birth?” 

“London, sir.” 

Erwin nodded and turned to the boy. 

“And you are?” 

“Alexander Magnolia, pleased to meet you!” the boy answered brightly. Erwin had to struggle to stifle a small smile.

“How old are you Alexander Magnolia?”

“Seventeen, sir.” 

Erwin blinked at that, the boy barely looked older than thirteen if even that. 

“Seventeen?” 

“Yes sir,” the boy nodded, but his eyes slid sideways to Levi, who stood silently to his right. 

“Very well. You’ll both be rated ordinary at present. Once you’ve proved your worth you’ll be rated able. I’m assigning you both to the larboard watch. Church, you’ll join the first gun crew, Magnolia, you’ll join the top men on the mizzen mast. You’re not afraid to go aloft I take it?” 

“No sir!” Magnolia replied smartly, puffing his chest out proudly.

Erwin picked up two of the piles of coins from his desk and handed them to his new volunteers. Church pocketed the money hurriedly but Magnolia simply stood and stared at the coins with shining eyes. 

“Very good. The purser will keep account of all future wages, minus the cost of slops and tobacco.” Erwin paused. “You’re Marias now. See that you do your ship proud. Dismissed sailors!” he commanded in his most authoritative voice. 

“Aye sir!” they responded in unison with a smart salute, though the effect was rather spoiled by the fact that Church had saluted with the wrong hand. Erwin let it go. 

“Now,” the captain turned his attention to the man remaining in his cabin. Levi was still standing with his arms crossed, expression impassive but for a faint trace of disdain clouding his grey eyes. He was short enough to stand upright despite the low deckhead and his straight posture made him look oddly commanding in the small cabin. 

“Your name please?”

“I told you my name.”

“Ah yes, Levi, you said. That’s correct isn’t it? Just Levi?” Erwin raised one brow in query.

“Just Levi.” 

“No surname? It feels rather forward to be on first name terms just yet, don’t you think?”

Levi’s jaw tightened, a heavy silenced filling the small cabin. Above his head, Erwin could hear the muffled patter of bare feet on deck, the shrill call of the boatswain’s whistle.

“Ackerman,” the man finally replied, as though it cost him some effort to give up the information. 

Levi Ackerman. Erwin supposed there might be many reasons why a man might be reticent about divulging such a name. 

“And where are you from Levi Ackerman?”

Levi appeared slightly confused for a moment.

“From? I’m not “from” anywhere.”

“Come now, there must be some place you call home.”

“Yeah,” Levi drawled, “my ship.”

“The Maria is your ship now.” 

Erwin was beginning to grow a little exasperated with the man. 

“How old are you?” he asked, changing tack. 

“Twenty-eight,” Levi replied without hesitation.

“And how long have you been at sea?” 

Levi shrugged. 

“As long as I can remember. I haven’t been counting.” 

“Well if the way you handled that brig is any indication you’re clearly a very experienced seaman.” 

Levi blinked and Erwin thought he caught a brief flicker of surprise in his cool grey eyes. He sat back and folded his hands on the desk in front of him, regarding Levi for a long moment. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Levi snapped, apparently thrown by the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken.

“On the yard. It was you that cleared the fouled sail on the main yard wasn’t it?”

“So what if it was?” 

“I was impressed by the way you handled that brig. You left us standing more often than I care to recall.” Erwin said ruefully.

“It wasn’t difficult,” Levi shrugged, “your ship’s crank. You need to shift her ballast aft.”

Erwin raised his eyebrows.

“Is that so? Thank you for sharing the wisdom of your experience, I’ll bear than in mind. So, Mr Ackerman,” Erwin continued, “I need a new captain of the mizzen top and I think you could be just the man. What say you?” 

“I’d say I’m not in any position to refuse.”

“Smart man. Larboard watch. You’ll have able seamen Bozado and Shultz with you, along with Magnolia.” 

“What will happen to my cargo?” Levi nodded at the cartridge of tea that was lying forgotten on Erwin’s desk spilling its contents onto his blotter.

“Your cargo?” Erwin couldn’t help admiring the man’s cheek, “I think you mean the illegal goods you were caught smuggling. They’ll be sold by the prize court along with your ship.” 

“Prize court? Tch. Nothing more than legalized piracy.”

“That’s as maybe, but as you belong to the _Maria_ now, you’ll have a share of the prize money along with the rest of the crew. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with this.”

Erwin pushed the small pile of money across his desk. Levi picked it up and stared down at the coins lying in his hand. 

“The king’s shilling…” he muttered. 

“Think of it as my shilling if you prefer.” 

Levi raised his head slowly and looked the captain dead in the eye. 

“You might have bought my service,” he spat, “but you don’t own me. You never will.” And without waiting to be dismissed, he turned on his heel to leave.

“Ackerman!” 

Levi stopped and tensed, looking back over his shoulder, waiting for the reprimand.

“You might as well take this, it’ll be wasted on me.” 

Erwin held out the cartridge of tea, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. For a moment Levi didn’t move, clearly torn between his desire to leave as quickly as possible and returning to take the tea. The tea won out. He crossed the cabin in short swift strides, snatched the cartridge from Erwin’s hand and beat a hasty retreat without a backwards glance. 

Erwin watched him go then he picked up his pen and in the column of the _Maria_ ’s muster book wrote the name Levi Ackerman, his pen tracing carefully over the curves and loops of the letters, Capt. Mzn Top.


	4. The Articles of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW** for blood, corporal punishment and reference to period typical injuries.

Captain Erwin Smith of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_ stood on the quarterdeck and looked down at his crew. It was a fine morning in late summer and the sun was sparkling off the bright waters of the Channel. The ship’s company was drawn up in the waist, all rigged out smartly in their Sunday best, cap ribbons fluttering in the breeze. This being the first Sunday of the month it was the captain that stood to address them, rather than the chaplain, and instead of the Book of Common Prayer, open on the lectern in front of him was the Articles of War. 

The Articles were the regulations by which all ships of His Majesty’s Royal Navy were governed. They were the word of law aboard ship, dictating discipline and punishment, and they gave every captain the power of life and death over his men. 

Erwin felt the weight of that power and responsibility as he squared his shoulders and stood tall before his men. In the hands of a draconian captain the Articles could be a tool for cruelty and brutality, but Erwin was neither a tyrant nor a martinet. He maintained discipline rigorously and though he did not hesitate to punish where punishment was due, he was slow to use the lash and he positively forbade starting, the custom whereby boatswains and their mates beat seamen who were tardy in the execution of their duties. Captain Smith demanded obedience from his crew, but he sought loyalty, rather than fear and submission. 

Erwin had no need for the heavy leather-bound book set on the lectern before him, he knew every word by heart. The Articles had governed his every action since he was a green midshipman and he had read them countless times since he had ascended to the quarterdeck as captain and commander. 

“All commanders, captains, and officers,” he began, “in or belonging to any of His Majesty's ships or vessels of war, shall cause the public worship of Almighty God, according to the liturgy of the Church of England established by law, to be solemnly, orderly and reverently performed in their respective ships.” 

The men stood below, caps in hands, respectful in their silence. 

“All flag officers,” the captain continued, “and all persons in or belonging to His Majesty's ships or vessels of war, being guilty of profane oaths, cursings, execrations, drunkenness, uncleanness, or other scandalous actions, in derogation of God's honour, and corruption of good manners, shall incur such punishment as a court martial shall think fit to impose, and as the nature and degree of their offence shall deserve.” 

On and on the words flowed, the captain’s voice ringing loud and clear over the rattle of the deadeyes and the ceaseless song of the wind in the ringing. Truth be told, the Articles slid through Erwin’s mind leaving little impression as he recited the familiar words by rote. Instead, he focused his attention on his crew, observing the seaman who ducked his head at the 23rd Article “If any person in the fleet shall quarrel or fight…”, the man had been flogged for brawling a fortnight past. The midshipman who shuffled nervously at the 27th, “No person in or belonging to the fleet shall sleep upon his watch…” the boy had been sent to the masthead for falling asleep on watch the previous week. 

Only when he reached the 29th Article did the captain focus his full attention on the words. It had taken Erwin years to be able to read the 29th without the words sticking in his throat and even now they caused a cold spark of anger to flare in his chest. 

“If any person in the fleet,” his voice was steady and commanding, “shall commit the unnatural and detestable sin of buggery and sodomy with man or beast...”

Sodomy was rife within the fleet, though most captains chose to turn a blind eye to it unless the offenders were particularly blatant, persistent, or abusive, and even then they were often charged with the lesser offence of “uncleanness” under the 2nd Article.  
Occasionally though, an example had to be set. 

“…he shall be punished with death…”

Erwin remembered the horror of seeing a ship’s boy and his abuser swinging from the yardarm when he was a junior lieutenant aboard the flagship. His Majesty’s Royal Navy, in their infinite wisdom, saw no distinction between victim and perpetrator, and the boy had been hung for the simple crime of being abused. On the flip side of the coin, Erwin had also seen two devoted sailors flogged around the fleet after being caught in the act by an over-zealous and vindictive master-at-arms. The fact that they had consented was entirely irrelevant, and in the eyes of some, only compounded their crime. It was an injustice that rankled with the young Erwin Smith. Though courts martial for sodomy were uncommon, and handing down the capital sentence was rare, any suggestion of irregularly, any hint of unnatural desires, could taint an officer’s career for life. But still, men found a way, they always found a way, and Erwin Smith was not the only officer who knew of discrete inns and hostelries set well back from the ports and docksides, where a gentleman might find companionship without judgement. 

“…by the sentence of a court martial.”

A flicker of movement caught Erwin’s eye. On the deck below, Levi Ackerman, captain of the mizzen top, turned his head away. 

~ ~ ~

Life continued much as before aboard HMS _Maria_ as summer ran into autumn and Captain Smith continued to patrol the waters of the Channel, on the look out for smugglers. 

Midshipman Nanaba brought the brig _Rose_ into Portsmouth without incident and returned to the ship by tender, flushed with the success of their first cruise. The brig and her cargo were listed for sale by the prize courts but Erwin knew they would be unlikely to see a penny of prize money before the following spring. Meanwhile, the _Rose_ ’s former captain adjusted to his new command - the _Maria_ ’s mizzen top, where he took up station above the quarterdeck. Occasionally Captain Smith’s gaze would stray aloft where he would find storm grey eyes looking down at him from the top. 

By and large, the Maria’s new volunteers settled in well. To Erwin’s gratification, Ackerman proved to be an active and diligent topman. He was quick, strong and resilient and went aloft with the kind of grace and agility that Erwin couldn’t help admiring. However he did nothing to temper his disagreeable attitude, which frequently brought him into conflict with Lieutenant Darlett, who demanded a degree obsequiousness from the man that he was clearly not prepared to deliver. Despite his insubordinate tendencies, Ackerman followed orders promptly and to the letter and he had the uncanny ability to pre-empt commands almost before they were given, the result of a lifetime at sea, Erwin had little doubt. Though his competence as a seaman might have been expected, Erwin was surprised how readily the _Maria_ ’s topmen took to their surly new captain. Despite their initial suspicion, Bozado and Shultz were soon following Ackerman’s directions with alacrity and enthusiasm and Erwin was amused to notice that before the month was out, Bozado had taken to wearing his collar in a similar upturned fashion to the new captain of the top. 

In contrast to his former captain, Church proved to be bright and easy going. He made a valuable addition to the guncrew, immediately understanding Hanji’s experimental gun sights and even suggesting some minor adjustments to the delighted doctor. Magnolia was boisterous and high spirited as boys were wont to be, however Ackerman kept him in hand, and more that once Erwin had seen the older man checking the boy for reckless behaviour with a few sharp words. 

Despite the reservations of Lieutenant Zacharias, Erwin ordered the _Maria_ ’s ballast to be shifted aft as Ackerman had suggested. It took several adjustments, which had the crew sweating and cursing in the hold as they shifted stores and ballast fore and aft by minute degrees, but eventually on the fourth attempt, the ship was noticeably less crank. She heeled less under the wind and recovered more quickly, which even Zacharias had to admit increased her speed and manoeuvrability significantly. 

Always one to give where credit was due, Erwin ordered one of the younger midshipmen aloft to call Ackerman down to the quarterdeck. Carter, a nervous fourteen year old, turned pale as he saluted the captain with shaking hands, before clambering laboriously up the mizzen shrouds, fumbling for the ratlines with unsteady feet. Erwin was well aware that the boy had a mortal fear of heights, however if he wished to pursue a career as a sea officer, it was a fear he must overcome. And better he learn to conquer that fear on a calm afternoon, with the Maria cruising easily under topsails, than in the teeth of a Channel gale. Half way up the shrouds Midshipman Carter’s fear got the better of him and he froze, clinging to the rigging for dear life, unable to ascend or descend. The captain watched with interest and no little sympathy, as Ackerman’s head appeared over the edge of the top and he called down to the petrified youngster. Although his words were carried away by the wind, the sharpness of his tone reached the quarterdeck. The boy looked up and shook his head, rigid with fear. Without hesitating, Ackerman swung himself out of the top, descended the shrouds and, with no small degree of skill and patience, coaxed the terrified youngster up into the top. Ten minutes passed before the boy reappeared, Ackerman helped him out of the top and, assisted by Magnolia, he clambered down the shrouds with considerably more confidence that he had when ascending. Ackerman waited until the two boys had almost reached the deck before launching himself out over the edge of the top and onto the backstay in a single fluid movement. He slid down the backstay at breakneck speed, landed on deck as lightly as a cat and presented himself to the captain with a less than enthusiastic salute. 

“You’re good with the men Ackerman,” Erwin observed. “The last time Carter went aloft it took him the best part of the watch to pluck up the courage to come down again. What did you say to him?”

“I told him to get his sorry arse down the shrouds otherwise he’d be coming down the backstay with me.” 

“I should imagine that would do it,” Erwin replied, though from the faintly awed and admiring glances Midshipman Carter was casting at Ackerman, he suspected that was only half the truth. 

“You were right about the ballast,” the captain continued. 

“You sound surprised,” Ackerman replied flatly.

“I’m not. I’ll be noting in the log that the ballast was shifted on the recommendation of Able Seaman Ackerman and that the ship’s handing improved considerably as a result.” 

“Your ship, your log.” Ackerman shrugged. “Note what you like.” 

“Yes. It is,” Erwin snapped, riled by the man’s lack of gratitude, “and you’d do well to remember it.” 

“Aye Captain.” Ackerman saluted, rather more sharply than previously, but his grey eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Dismissed!” Erwin barked, turning away before his temper got the better of him

The captain was still fuming when he marched into his cabin and threw his hat down onto the desk, scattering despatches and almost overturning a pot of ink. Something about Ackerman riled Erwin Smith. The man got under his skin in a way that no subordinate should. He was a common seaman, nothing more, and the estimation of a common seaman should be of no regard to a captain of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. The gulf between officers and men was sacrosanct and could only be crossed in rare exceptional circumstances. But if ever Erwin had met a man who appeared to be the exception to every rule, it was Levi Ackerman. 

Swallowing his temper, Erwin opened the captain’s log and, after noting their station, wind and weather conditions, wrote, “Employed men shifting ballast aft at suggestion of Abl L. Ackerman, capt mizn top.” With his temper still hot in his chest, Captain Erwin Smith scored a heavy line under Ackerman’s name and threw his pen aside. 

~ ~ ~

“Captain Smith sir, there’s been a bit of trouble below,” the tall first lieutenant saluted as he ascended the quarterdeck companion. 

“Yes Zacharias?”

“A bit of aggravation between Brown and Ackerman, nothing serious. Magnolia seemed to be caught up in it too.” 

“Did they come to blows?”

“No, sir. Nanaba broke it up before they laid hands on each other. They looked like they were up for a square go though.” 

Erwin pursed his lips and frowned. To be honest he had been expecting trouble ever since the pressed men came aboard. Every ship had its own intricate hierarchy below decks, which owned little to the formal chain of command. The introduction of new men to an established pecking order invariably caused a degree of friction. Brown was one of the the Maria’s most experienced seamen, a veteran of numerous fleet battles and engagements, he was respected by the men and ruled the roost before the mast. Erwin was not surprised that he had come into conflict with Ackerman, he only wondered that it had not happened sooner. Everything that he had seen of Ackerman suggested that he had little respect for arbitrary authority, indeed he barely seemed to recognise the captain’s own god given command. Erwin would not tolerate fighting and indiscipline aboard his ship but he had enough experience to know that, by and large, such conflicts between the men tended to settle themselves without intervention. 

“Very well,” he nodded, “stop both men’s grog for a fortnight. Let’s hope that teaches them a lesson. And keep an eye on them Mr Zacharias. I don’t want any more trouble.” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” Zacharias saluted, and retreated below. 

~ ~ ~

The _Maria_ continued her largely uneventful cruise up and down the Channel, putting into Portsmouth for supplies and occasionally running despatches for the port admiral. They were anchored off Spithead one evening, dwarfed by the great men-of-war of the Channel Fleet, when the doctor sauntered into the captain’s cabin.

“Hey Erwin what you up to?” 

Erwin laid down his pen and smiled up at the doctor, welcoming the interruption. For all their peculiarities and idiosyncrasies he enjoyed the informality of their company. 

“Despatches,” he grimaced.

“Sounds thrilling.” 

“It really, really isn’t.” 

The doctor cackled and rolled their eyes, plonking themselves down in their habitual seat beneath the small stern windows. Sometimes Erwin wondered who’s cabin it really was. 

“To what do I own the honour Dr Zoe?”

“I don’t supposed you spoke to the dockyard about getting a couple of those new carronades did you?”

“Sorry Hanji,” Erwin shook his head, “we haven’t got a cat’s chance in hell.” 

“Awwww,” the doctor pouted, wrinkling their nose and making their glasses jump. “You couldn’t go down to the gun wharf and pull a few strings?”

“Alas you overestimate my influence with the Navy Board, Hanji. I barely managed to secure our regular supplies of powder and shot, such as they are.” 

“Oh well, worth a try,” Hanji shrugged, suddenly changed tack. “Your topman’s an interesting character.”

“Which one? Ackerman?” 

Erwin wasn’t entirely surprised that Ackerman had attracted the doctor’s attention. They had a natural curiosity about people and, he had to admit, Ackerman was certainly a curious person. 

“Who else.” Hanji nodded in confirmation.

“What’s so interesting about him?” 

Erwin turned his chair round to face the doctor, giving them his full attention.

“Well, he keeps begging supplies from me for a start.” 

“Supplies? What kind of supplies?” Erwin’s eyes narrowed. During his years at sea he had met many officers and men who would feign persistent or recurring complaints to obtain a steady supply of Laudanum. 

“Mostly soap and rubbing alcohol,” the doctor replied cheerfully.

“Alcohol? You’ve been giving one of the men alcohol? That’s irresponsible even by your standards!”

“Oh, he’s not drinking it,” Hanji waved their hand airily.

“What’s he using it for then?” Erwin asked, genuinely bemused.

“Cleaning mostly.” 

“Cleaning? Cleaning what?” 

“Himself, his hammock, anything he can get his hands on I think. He said your ship’s fucking filthy.” 

“Did he now?” Erwin should have been angered by the insult to his ship, but he couldn’t help feeling rather amused, if still somewhat sceptical. “How can you be sure he’s not drinking the stuff?” Admittedly Erwin had never seen Ackerman inebriated but he knew well that many experienced seamen could ship astonishing quantities of liquor without even wavering. 

“He doesn’t drink.” Hanji replied. “Well, not unless it’s tea, and he gets that from the galley.”

“How do you know that?” 

“He trades his grog ration.”

“Trades it for what?” 

“Tea and cleaning supplies,” the doctor admitted sheepishly.

“Hanji….” Erwin groaned, shaking his head. “Well, clearly stopping his grog was a pointless exercise then.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Hanji answered brightly. “If you really want to punish him all you need to do is stop his supplies of tea and soap. I miss the extra grog though…” they added sadly. 

~ ~ ~

The _Maria_ was beating down the channel in a fresh breeze when Lieutenant Darlett appeared on the quarterdeck, breathless and with his hat askew. 

“Captain Smith!” 

He hurried over to the weather side of the quarterdeck where the captain was instructing the midshipmen on correct use of the sextant. 

“One moment if you please Mr Darlett.” 

Erwin adjusted one of the boy’s instruments before turning to the agitated lieutenant.

“Reporting two men in the brig, sir!”

“Get a hold of your self man,” the captain snapped, aware of the midshipmen gawping at the second lieutenant’s rare breach of quarterdeck decorum. 

“Aye sir, sorry sir. Two of the men were brawling below. Ackerman and Brown, sir. It took two Marines and the master-at-arms to separate them. They’re both in irons in the brig.” 

Erwin had to clench his jaw to prevent an oath of frustration escaping from his lips. They had had their chance, and refused to learn their lesson. There could be only one course of action. 

“I will not have brawling on my ship,” the captain bellowed, his voice carrying the entire length of the _Maria_. Every head turned towards the quarterdeck, one of the midshipmen jumped, almost dropping his sextant overboard. “Any man,” Erwin paused, ensuring he had the full attention of the entire crew. “Any man caught fighting aboard this ship will answer at the gratings.” Silence hung heavy in the air as one or two of the men shuffled uncomfortably. “Mr Darlett,” Erwin turned back to the lieutenant, “remove the men’s irons and leave them in the brig, they’ll have twelve lashes apiece tomorrow. Dismissed!” He roared and the _Maria_ was a hive of activity once more, as every man attended diligently to their duty, in an attempt to avoid the captain’s furious glare. 

At noon the following day the _Maria_ ’s company was assembled in watches on either side of the main deck, the Marines drawn up in formation with bayonets drawn, and the ship’s officers standing solemnly to the side, as the bo’sun’s mates rigged up the gratings at the gangway. The captain stood tall in front of them, an imposing figure, decked out in his cocked hat and side arms, with a cold gaze that few could meet. 

“Bring the men forward,” he ordered. 

The ships company parted as the master-at-arms ushered the guilty men forward to the gratings. 

Brown, a bear of a man, stood a good head and a half taller than Ackerman, but to Erwin’s surprise he had clearly come off worse in the altercation. His lip was split and scabbed and a deep purple bruise shadowed his left eye. Ackerman, by contrast, had barely a scratch. Both men stood before the captain and assembled officers, eyes fixed forward. 

“If any person,” the captain began, invoking the Articles of War, “in the fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person in the fleet, or use reproachful or provoking speeches or gestures, tending to make any quarrel or disturbance, he shall, upon being convicted thereof, suffer such punishment as the offence shall deserve. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“No sir.” Brown replied. Ackerman remained silent, but there was a soft stifled sob from the crew and out of the corner of his eye, Erwin observed Church gripping Magnolia by the shoulder. 

“Very well. By the power vested in me as captain of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_ , I hereby sentence you to twelve lashes.” 

Erwin looked each man in the eye in turn. Brown lifted his chin, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his battered lips. It wasn’t the first time the man had faced a flogging and Erwin doubted it would be the last. Ackerman remained impassive, his cool grey eyes met the captain’s but his expression gave nothing away. If anything, he looked slightly bored. 

“Proceed.” 

The master-at-arms stepped forward to the two men, pulled their shirts off over their heads and draped them over their shoulders. Stripped to the waist, the contrast between the two was even more striking. Brown was broad and bronzed, his skin tanned a deep mahogany, arms and shoulders bulging with thick muscle, torso littered with battle scars, a living record of his long naval service. Ackerman was almost porcelain pale by comparison, the fair skin of his chest contrasting with the weather beaten gold of his forearms and face. He looked so impossibly small it was hard to believe he had inflicted such damage on the huge man beside him. But as he shrugged to prevent the shirt draped over his shoulders from slipping to the deck, Erwin couldn’t help noticing the way tough muscle and corded sinew rolled and flexed beneath that pale skin. Something hot and unbidden flared deep in his chest. 

The bo’sun’s mate pulled the cat from its baize bag as the master-at-arms seized Brown up to the gratings, arms above his head and legs stretched wide. Dr Zoe, who was standing by the side of the gangway, looked the man over, pressed their fingers to the pulse at his neck for a few moments, and then nodded. 

“Begin,” the captain ordered and the mate swung the cat.

Brown bore his punishment well, the scars already crisscrossing his back showed that he was no stranger to the gratings, but for all his bravado he was pale and gasping when the final stroke fell, and his knees buckled when the captain said, “Stop. Take him down.” 

Ackerman watched the punishment calmly and stepped forward without hesitation as Brown staggered away from the gangway. The man was so small that the master-at-arms had to lower the seizings, but even so, once he was bound hand and foot to the gratings he was stretched out tight as a bowstring, every muscle and sinew taught and straining. The bo’sun’s mate pulled a fresh cat from the bag, shaking out nine long knotted tails as the master-at-arms pulled the shirt off Ackerman’s shoulders. Erwin’s mouth went dry. Besides one long vicious scar running down his side, Ackerman’s back was unblemished, pale and unmarked by cat or cane. The man had clearly never endured a flogging before and Erwin was seized with a sudden visceral horror of marking that flawless skin. 

“Captain Smith, sir?” Lieutenant Zacharias cleared his throat quietly.

It took Erwin a moment to realise that he had been staring, while the assembled crew waited for him to give the order. At the gratings, Ackerman turned his head as best he could between straining shoulders and caught his gaze, one slender brow raising in query. 

“The doctor has given the go ahead sir,” Zacharias muttered below his breath. 

Erwin tore his eyes away from the man at the gratings and looked up at Dr Zoe who was peering at him over the rim of their glasses, brows pinched in confusion. 

“Proceed,” the captain ordered finally. 

There was a moment of silence before the cat whistled through the air and fell with a heavy thud across Ackerman’s back. He grunted from the impact as long scarlet stripes blossomed across his back. It was the only sound he made. The bo’sun’s mate laid the cat across his shoulders again and again, scoring his back with vicious welts. By the sixth stroke, trails of blood were trickling down his back in livid streaks, but still Ackerman remained silent, head bowed to the gratings. As the cat fell for the tenth time, a flying tail caught the ribbon of his queue, flicking it out across the deck and sending black hair scattering across his lacerated shoulders. By the time the mate swung the cat for the twelfth and final time Erwin was gritting his teeth so hard that it was an effort to give the order to bring the punishment to an end. 

“Stop. Take him down.” 

Ackerman stood silent and patient as he was cut down. He flexed his wrists and rubbed them briefly, before pushing his loose hair back off his face and nodding once to the captain. Then, heedless of his torn back, he bent down, picked his shirt up from the deck and walked back to rejoin Church and Magnolia, who was sobbing quietly, angry tears coursing down his flushed cheeks. 

Floggings were always an unpleasant business but they were a necessary evil if discipline was to be maintained in such close quarters. Erwin Smith knew this well and he was not a squeamish man, no naval captain could afford such delicate sensibilities. Since joining the service as a boy he had seen seamen’s backs flogged to ribbons, men’s limbs blown off my canon and shot, officers brains spattered across the deck by snipers’ bullets, and once, as a midshipman, he had held down a hysterical boy as a naval surgeon sawed through the splintered mess that had once been his left arm. Erwin was hardened by the rigours of the service but there was something about the sight of Ackerman’s mutilated back, the blood that trickled in red streams between the livid welts that turned his stomach and left him light headed and reeling. 

“Dr Zoe,” he cleared his throat and steadied his voice, “take those men below and see to their wounds,” he ordered, before dismissing the crew and retreating to his cabin. Only once the door was closed did he run a shaking hand over his face and exhale a long shuddering breath. He poured a glass of brandy and swallowed it with a grimace in a vain attempt to steady his shaking hands. By the third glass, he had regained enough composure to open the captain’s log and write “Punish’d Abl P. Brown and Abl. L. Ackerman with 12 lashes for brawling.” He stared down at the name written in his own careful hand and felt bile rising in his throat.

Later that night when Captain Erwin Smith retired to his cot, his fitful sleep was disturbed by dreams of cool grey eyes, silk dark hair and scarlet rivulets trickling over skin as pale and white as bone.


	5. Lay Aloft

Erwin woke with a jolt, mouth full of ashes and a sick weight sliding in his stomach. He blinked into the darkness of his cabin willing away the image of livid welts blossoming over pale skin, of fine dark hair and blood that ran red as roses. Up on deck the watch bell sounded; seven bells first watch. Erwin took a deep breath and ran his hand over gritty eyes. 

Floggings were always grim, but the punishment he had meted out the previous day had unsettled him beyond reason. Erwin was not a callous man but he was inured to the usages of the Service and corporal punishment was a fact of life in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. There was barely a man or boy afloat who had not felt the sting of cat or cane at some point in their lives. Though officers were above flogging, there were few who had not had the cane applied to their backsides when they were young midshipmen. Erwin himself had kissed the gunner’s daughter more often than he cared to recall when he was a headstrong and somewhat unruly mid, and he still bore a thin, ridged scar from where a particularly exasperated captain had broken a cane over the back of his thighs. 

For most men, the humiliation and indignity of the punishment was more of a deterrent than the pain. The Service knew this and floggings were never carried out with anything less than full ceremony. It was not sufficient to simply punish a man; they had to be _seen_ to be punished. Brown and Ackerman had both born their sentence well and neither had seemed particularly perturbed by the experience. Brown was no stranger to flogging and had stepped up to the gratings full of bravado. The man had a reputation to maintain and any sign of weakness would jeopardize his place in the pecking order below decks. But there was something about the way that Ackerman had accepted his punishment, with a kind of resigned stoicism, that disconcerted Erwin. He had expected more fight from the man, more indignation, more outrage. Ackerman was clearly a proud man and yet there had been something almost submissive in the way he had endured the flogging, as though it was an inevitability somehow. 

But it wasn’t just that. The sight of Ackerman’s unmarked back had made it obvious that he had never been on the receiving end of a flogging before. Of course Erwin had seen many men, green landsmen and lubbers, dragged sniveling to the gratings for their first flogging, but this was different. As a smuggler, Ackerman had spent much of his life outside the law and it was clear that he had never bowed to authority before. The fact that Erwin was the first authority he had submitted to, and that he had used him thus, disturbed Erwin. The punishment was neither unwarranted nor excessive, brawling would not be tolerated and there could be no relaxation of discipline aboard a ship of war, but still, Erwin could not shake the feeling that he had wronged the man. 

With a sigh, Erwin rolled himself out of his cot and filling his small washbasin from the pitcher, splashed cold water over his face in an attempt to wash away the residue of the disturbing images that had plagued his dreams. By the time he had shaved and dressed, the watch had changed and the sun was creeping over the horizon, as he ascended the quarterdeck companion. 

Lieutenant Darlett met him with a weary salute. 

“Anything to report, lieutenant?” 

“No sir, all quiet sir.” 

“Very good, set a course Nor’Nor’East.” 

“Aye, aye, Nor’Nor’East it is sir,” Darlett replied, and passed the order to the helmsman. 

The captain took up station on the weather side of the quarterdeck and watched as the sun rose over the horizon, painting the sea in rosy hues of red and gold. The fresh morning breeze scattered the remnants of his dream away like smoke on the wind, and when his gaze strayed aloft to the masthead, he was relieved to see the topmen of the starboard watch and the fair head of their captain, Able Seaman Eld Jinn. The larboard watch were below and Erwin could only hope that Ackerman was in the efficient, though less than tender care of Dr Hanji Zoe. 

Much of the morning was taken up with the mundane business of Admiralty dispatches and not for the first time Erwin had cause to wonder at the sheer volume of paperwork that was the lot of every captain of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Senior captains of larger vessels benefitted from the services of a clerk or secretary, and some wealthier captains employed their own additional staff, but no such luxury was afforded to impoverished junior captains, and Erwin had long ago resigned himself to the fact. Consequently it was late in the forenoon watch before he had the opportunity to call for the doctor. They appeared shortly after with sooty streaks on their face and smelling strongly of gunpowder. 

“How are the men Dr Zoe?” Erwin knew he didn’t have to specify which men he was referring to. 

“They’ll live,” the doctor replied grimly. “Hopefully you knocked some sense into them.” 

“You treated them both I hope?” 

“After a manner of speaking…” Hanji lifted their glasses and rubbed one eye, smearing soot across the bridge of their nose. 

“What do you mean?” Erwin frowned. 

“Brown is fine, he’s tough as old boots, he’s got so much scarring on his back that twelve lashes barely makes an impression. He was laying it on thick though, angling to be signed onto the sick list for a couple of days.” 

“And did you?” 

“Did I hell,” the doctor snorted, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I cleaned him up with vinegar and sent him packing.” 

“And what about….Ackerman?” Somehow Erwin hesitated to speak the man’s name.

The doctor’s expression pinched, suddenly serious. 

“To be honest? He’s a mess. Multiple contusions and a number of deep lacerations that could do with stitching. Not that it seemed to bother him. He’s a stubborn little shit. Wouldn’t let me near him at first. He only let me clean him up because Magnolia was kicking up a fuss and even then he was off like a shot. Wouldn’t let me stitch any of the deeper wounds.” 

“You signed him onto the sick list I hope?” 

The doctor shook their head and sighed ruefully.

“He wouldn’t let me.”

“Wouldn’t let you?” Erwin could feel his temper rising. “Dr Zoe do I have to remind out that you are a warrant officer of this ship? You do not ask, you order. And any man who disobeys a direct order…” 

“I did order!” the doctor interrupted in protest. “He just ignored me.”

Erwin closed his eyes took a deep breath. Damn Levi Ackerman and his stubbornness. Flogging the man a second time for insubordination would benefit nobody. 

“Anyway,” Hanji continued, “Magnolia swore blind he would see to it that he looks after himself, so I sent him off with extra dressings and strict instructions to keep the wounds clean.” 

“I can’t afford to loose one of my best topmen,” the captain snapped. 

“I tried my best Erwin,” the doctor replied unhappily. 

Erwin was still pondering how to address the situation when they were interrupted by a knock on the cabin door and Lieutenant Zacharias ducked low as he entered the cabin.

“The wind’s picking up, sir, permission to shorten sail?”

The request was a courtesy, but it was one that Erwin appreciated. He had served on many ships with captains of the old school where standing orders dictated that only the captain could issue the order to shorten sail. There were no such standing orders aboard the _Maria_ , Erwin trusted all his officers, and none more so than Mike Zacharias. 

“Go ahead Mr Zacharias. I’ll join you on deck.” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” Zacharias gave a cramped salute and backed out of the cabin followed by the miserable looking doctor. 

The wind had veered sharply to the north and was howling through the rigging when the captain came on deck preceded by the First Lieutenant. The Maria heeled sharply as a sudden squall hit her abaft the beam and Erwin had to cling onto the handrail of the quarterdeck companion to stop himself stumbling. The ship shuddered as she righted herself, sails luffing and flapping as the squall passed and the wind shifted again. 

“Watch! Single reef topsails!” Zacharias bellowed over the rising wind. “Lay aloft topmen! Take one reef in topsails!”

The topmen on all three masts ran aloft without hesitation and as Erwin watched their ascent from the quarterdeck he was horrified to see a familiar small figure leading the mizzen top men out along the t’gallant yard.

“God dammit,” he swore quietly under this breath. 

Ackerman moved with his habitual agility and grace, however Erwin couldn’t help a sick feeling rising in his throat as he watched the man brace his feet against the foot ropes and lean out over the yard to haul up the flapping sail. Shortening sail was heavy work, and the position at the end of the yard arm, supported only by the Flemish horse, a thin swaying loop of rope, required the greatest strength and agility. Despite his injuries, Ackerman made short work of the task, but it was only when he had descended to the safety of the top that Erwin released the breath that was searing his lungs and as he turned to his First Lieutenant, somehow, he found that it was an effort to keep his voice steady. 

“Mr Zacharias, send Ackerman below at the end of the watch. I’ll be in my cabin.” 

“Aye aye, sir,” Zacharias replied calmly but Erwin couldn’t help noticing the curious look he cast aloft and the way he sniffed in passing. 

Once below, Erwin took a long breath, steadying himself and swallowing down the bitterness in his throat. He was not a man known for hot temper, quite the opposite, if anything Erwin Smith had a reputation for being cold and somewhat aloof. He had learned from an early age to keep his temper in check, regardless of the incompetence of his superior officers and the arrogance of the privileged young gentlemen with whom he berthed. Even as a boy Erwin had known that without influence or patronage, he could ill afford to make enemies in the service, so he had schooled himself to smother his temper and maintain an impassive façade. But there was something about Ackerman that breached his composure. The man simply inflamed his temper, though whether it was anger or guilt that was burning hot in his throat he could not say. 

Frustrated with himself, Erwin turned his attention back to the correspondence on his desk, picking up his pen to complete a half written response to the latest Admiralty despatch, however when the Marine sentry rapped on the door at the end of the watch he found that the letter remained unwritten, the paper spoiled by a large blot of ink. 

“Come,” the captain called, crumpling up the spoiled letter and tossing is aside. 

The Marine sentry opened the door and ushered Ackerman into the cabin. He did not salute, he simply stood there, frowning and silent. 

“Ackerman…” Erwin started, but the rebuke died on his lips, the spark of anger snuffed out, replaced by a stab of concern. Up close, Erwin could see the gray pallor beneath his tan of the man’s face, the tight lines of his mouth, the glassy sheen of his eyes. But still he stood there, chin lifted, defiant as ever, as though he could will the pain away with sheer bloody-minded determination. And who was Erwin to say? Perhaps he could. 

“What the hell were you doing aloft?” he asked, concern and frustration bleeding into his voice.

“It was my watch,” Ackerman replied tightly.

In an effort to conceal his irritation, Erwin rose from his desk and paced the small cabin.

“You refused to let Dr Zoe sign you onto the sick list, and you disobeyed a direct order from a warrant officer.” 

“So what are you going to do,” Ackerman tilted his head, and raised one thin brow, “have me flogged again?” 

“I see no profit in that. You’re one of my best top man. You’re useless to me flayed to ribbons. I want you in one piece.”

“Oh?” Ackerman replied quietly, “is that what you want?” 

Something in Erwin’s gut twisted at the insinuation. 

“What I want,” he snapped, temper rising again, “is for you to stay out of trouble. Steer clear of Brown, Ackerman.” 

“I’ll steer clear of him if he steers clear of us….me.” Ackerman corrected himself quickly, but Erwin caught the slip. 

“Why were you fighting?” Erwin stopped pacing and turned his full attention on Ackerman who just shrugged, wincing as he lifted his shoulders.

“I know Brown can be antagonistic, but he’s a capable seaman and popular with the other men. You won’t do yourself any favours picking fights with him, and” Erwin stepped forward and glared down at the smaller man, “I will not stand for brawling on my ship.” 

Ackerman peered up at him, holding his gaze. “He’s a cunt.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s a fucking bully.”

Something Darlett had said came back to Erwin as he gazed down at the smaller man.

“How was Magnolia mixed up in all this?” 

“He wasn’t,” Ackerman replied, a little too sharply.

“That’s not what Lieutenant Darlett said.” 

“Not my problem if Darlett talks shit.” 

Erwin sighed and shook his head, clearly the conversation was going nowhere.

“Well, you may feel disinclined to obey Dr Zoe’s orders but you will obey mine. You’ll spend the next five days on the sick list. I don’t want to see you aloft until next week. That’s an order.” 

“And if I don’t obey?” Ackerman replied, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You _will_ obey,” Erwin replied calmly, “or you will spend the week in the brig.” 

Ackerman held his gaze for a long moment, clearly weighing his options, calculating how far he could push the man

“Fine,” he replied sullenly, “but I’m not spending the week in the sick bay. Four eyes will drive me mad.” 

Erwin couldn’t help sympathizing. A week of close confinement with Hanji Zoe would be enough to drive even the most hardened seaman to mutiny.

“I don’t see that you’re in any position to bargain, but as long as you let Dr Zoe attend to you daily, I won’t confine you to the sick bay.”

Ackerman scowled darkly, but nodded his agreement.

“Send Farlan aloft instead of me.” 

“Are you telling me how to run my ship Ackerman?” 

Despite his insubordination, Erwin couldn’t help admiring the man’s nerve. 

“I don’t care how you run your ship, just send Farlan into the top.” 

“If it will keep you on deck then I’ll consider it. Now go and see Dr Zoe. They’ll give you some laudanum for the pain.” 

“I don’t want any of that shit.” Ackerman spat. 

Erwin laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. 

“The doctor was right about you.”

“How so?”

“They said you were stubborn.” 

Ackerman snorted dismissively but the effect was rather spoiled by the sharp inhale of pain that he failed to stifle. 

“Here,” Erwin picked up the brandy decanter from his desk, poured a generous measure and handed it to the smaller man, “take this instead at least. You look like you need it.”

Ackerman took the glass and eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s probably not on a par with what you had access to during your, shall we way, former career, but it’s the best I can afford.” 

Ackerman sniffed the spirit and grimaced. 

“It’s shit. You were robbed.” But he knocked it back with one swift swallow. His throat bobbed once above this neatly tied neckerchief and the heat that pooled in Erwin’s stomach burned hotter than any spirit. 

Ackerman replaced the glass on the desk and Erwin couldn’t help noticing the faint tremor that ran through his fingers. 

“Will that be all captain?”

“Yes Ackerman, that will be all. Dismissed.” 

Ackerman nodded once, turned and left, only the slightest stiffness visible in his gait. 

After he had gone, Erwin refilled the glass, and lifted it to his mouth, wondering if he imagined the faint lingering warmth where his lips touched the rim. 

The following week passed without incident. Erwin ordered Church to transfer from the gun crew to the mizzen top and, to his relief, Ackerman remained dutifully on deck. Though it didn’t escape the captain’s notice that whenever Magnolia and Church were on watch, he took up station on the deck below, never far from the foot of the mizzen mast. The doctor reported that he allowed himself to be seen daily, albeit begrudgingly, and by the end of the week reported that his wounds were healing well and he was fit to return to duty. 

There was no reoccurrence of the trouble between Brown and Ackerman, but a palpable air of tension continued to hover between the two men. Magnolia rarely strayed far from Ackerman’s side, and Erwin noticed that he rarely saw the boy without either Ackerman or Church in tow. 

Winter set in cold and hard with endless gales and driving rain that came sheeting up the Channel from the Atlantic. The _Maria_ was a weatherly seaboat and she rode out the storms with ease, but despite the tireless efforts of the carpenter and his mates, she leaked at every seam and both officers and men despaired that they would ever be dry again. 

In early November Erwin received orders to shift station to patrol the waters between Falmouth and the Lizard, keeping a look out for any suspicious activity. News had reached England that the French fleet was massing in Brest, and Erwin watched with no little envy as the elite heavy frigates of the Western Squadron left Falmouth to prowl along the coast of France, harassing enemy ships and returning victorious with prizes in tow. 

Late on a cold November afternoon Erwin sat in the stern sheets of the gig as his boatcrew pulled away from the jetty and the boat nudged out into the choppy grey waters towards the outer harbor where the _Maria_ was anchored. The meeting with the Port Admiral had been as pointless as it was tedious and the thin sharp wind and driving rain that came sheeting across the harbour did little to improve his mood. Erwin pulled his worn boat cloak around his shoulders in a vain attempt to keep out the bitter wind that penetrated every seam and the freezing rain that dripped down the back of his neck. He was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone by the time he ascended the _Maria_ ’s side to be met by the shrill call of the bo’suns whistle and a grim faced first lieutenant. 

“Captain Smith, sir,” Zacharias began as Erwin shook the rain off his boat cloak, “there’s been trouble below. Ackerman’s in the brig.”


	6. Flat Aback

“Captain Smith, sir,” Zacharias began as Erwin came aboard the _Maria_ , shaking the rain off his boat cloak, “there’s been trouble below. Ackerman’s in the brig.” 

A cold weight settled in Erwin’s gut, heavier than the chill of winter. 

“Dammit,” he cursed, “what is it this time?”

“He took a knife to Brown, sir. No one saw exactly what happened, but Midshipman Nanaba raised the alarm and the Master at Arms hauled him off before he could do any more damage.” 

“And how much damage did he do?” 

“Brown was unarmed and screaming blue murder, but the doctor says he’ll live.” 

“Live?” Erwin’s stomach sank, “Ackerman tried to kill him?” 

The tall lieutenant shook his head, scattering water from the brim of his hat. 

“He might have done if Nanaba hadn’t chanced on them. As it was, he sliced open Brown’s wrist.”

“Where are the men now?”

“Brown’s being patched up by the doctor and Ackerman’s in the brig, sir”

“Bring them both here,” the captain snapped, biting back the anger flaring in his chest. 

“Aye aye, captain.” Zacharias saluted and passed the order to the Marine corporal to bring the men up from below.

Brown appeared on deck with one wrist heavily bandaged and strapped up in a sling, a tarpaulin sou’wester draped over his head and shoulders to shield him from the rain. Ackerman was dressed only in his shirtsleeves, a livid splash of blood staining the front of his waistcoat, fading to rusty brown in the rain. He stood upright between two Marines, hands manacled in front of him, oblivious to the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead and soaking through his shirt.

“He just went for me sir!” Brown started before Erwin could speak, “He’s a lunatic! Filthy sewer rats and smugglers, wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could spit a...” 

“Enough!” the captain barked. “What’s the cause of this disturbance?”

“Sure as I can’t say sir. I was minding my own business and he just went for me.”

“Ackerman,” Erwin turned to the smaller man. “What the devil do you think you’re playing at?” 

Ackerman said nothing, just stood there in the sheeting rain, face composed into his usual indifferent scowl.

“You attacked an unarmed man. I could have you court-martialed for attempted murder, have you nothing to say for yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Ackerman replied, holding the captain’s gaze coolly, “if that fucker wants to keep breathing, he should learn to keep his hands to himself.” 

Something in Erwin snapped. “Enough!” he bellowed. “Take this man away corporal.” Then he turned and stalked aft to his cabin before he could see the Marines dragging Ackerman away. 

A restless night disturbed by vague, incoherent dreams, did little to improve the captain’s mood the following day. Try as he might, Erwin could not drag his thoughts away from the man who was chained in the _Maria_ ’s brig, the man who had apparently tried to kill another member of his crew. He was brooding on the quarterdeck a little before noon when Zacharias appeared by his side. 

“Erwin,” he said quietly, lest any of the crew overhear the informality, “one of the men wants to speak with you.” 

Erwin looked up as the lieutenant nodded towards the small figure of Alexander Magnolia standing at the foot of the main mast, neatly dressed in his best clothes, cap in hand. Though it would be an unpardonable breach of discipline for a member of the crew to approach the captain directly, this was the accepted way in which any man could seek an audience with their captain.

“Bring him forward,” Erwin said.

Magnolia ascended the quarterdeck companion boldly, showing none of the trepidation that might be expected from the younger ship’s boys. He saluted smartly and stood in front of the captain, small and defiant, with his chin lifted in a gesture so familiar that something in Erwin’s chest twisted. 

“Yes Magnolia?” 

“Please sir, Captain Smith, sir,” they began, twisting their cap in their hands, “it was my fault sir.” The words came out in a rush. 

“What was your fault?” 

“He was just looking out for me. He does that, sir. He’s always been like that, ever since he took me in. He promised no one would lay a hand on me ever and he…”

Suddenly the boy stopped speaking, green eyes blowing wide, as though he had already said too much.

“What are you talking about Magnolia?” Erwin asked, bending down to the boy’s level, “are you referring to Brown and Ackerman?”

The boy bit his lip and looked down at his feet, shuffling uncomfortably. 

“Magnolia,” Erwin continued, “if you know something, if you know why Ackerman attacked Brown, if there are mitigating circumstances, now is your chance to speak, otherwise I will have no option but to punish him.”

The boy lifted his head, eyes bright with angry unshed tears. 

“Come now,” Erwin encouraged, “you have nothing to fear by speaking up.” 

But the boy remained stubbornly silent. 

“Magnolia, I give you my word, as a gentleman and as the captain of this ship, you can speak freely and in confidence here.” 

“Sorry sir,” Magnolia muttered, and Erwin could hear the catch in his voice, “it’s nothing sir, I shouldn’t have bothered you sir.” 

“Very well Alexander,” Erwin reached out and placed his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder, “but if you do have anything to say, anything at all, if anything is troubling you, don’t hesitate to speak to me or to Mr Zacharias. You can trust him. I trust him with my life, and you can too.”

“Aye sir,” the boy replied despondently, and turned to leave, but just as he reached the quarterdeck companion, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. 

“Will he hang?” 

“Sorry?” Erwin replied, momentarily confused. 

“Levi, will you hang him?” 

“No Magnolia, he won’t hang, not on my watch, but he will be punished.”

Magnolia nodded miserably and disappeared down the companion ladder. Erwin watched him go, deeply troubled. 

“That boy’s hiding something, Erwin,” Zacharias reappeared at the captain’s side, sniffing pointedly. “There’s something not right with him.”

“I know Mike,” Erwin sighed, “I know. Take the deck please, I’m going below to speak to Dr Zoe.”

Erwin found the doctor in the cockpit, clearing away soiled rags and instruments. 

“Look!” they beamed proudly, holding up a bloody tooth, clamped in a pair of pliers. “Second premolar bicuspid! I’ve never done one of these before! And the poor fellow didn’t even keel over. He did yell a bit though. What can I do for you Erwin?”

“I want to talk about Brown.” 

“Oh,” Hanji’s face fell, “I thought you might.”

“How is he?”

“His wrist is badly cut and he won’t be much use for a while, but he’ll be fine. He was lucky Ackerman missed the main artery but he almost sliced clean through the ulnaris tendon. I’ve patched him up and he should make a full recovery.” 

“I want him sent ashore and then transferred to the seaman’s hospital in Plymouth.”

The doctor frowned over the top of their dirty spectacles. 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary Erwin. It’s a deep cut, but it’s not serious, it’ll heal up fine.” 

“I don’t care. I want that man off my ship before there’s any more trouble.”

“You think Brown started this?” The doctor peered at the captain in that peculiarly perceptive way of theirs. 

“I don’t know,” Erwin sighed, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of a sea chest littered with surgical implements, “Ackerman may be violent, but he’s too smart to attack another man without provocation. Something’s going on and that boy Magnolia is mixed up in it, but for whatever reason, they’re refusing to speak up. So just write whatever you need to have Brown transferred to the hospital, and I’ll sign it off.” 

“Well if you’re sure Erwin…” the doctor replied, looking deeply sceptical. 

“Just do it Hanji.”

The _Maria_ was riding at single anchor in Falmouth roads in the depths of the first watch when the captain made his way down to the orlop deck. The Marine sentry dozing outside the bolted door of the brig startled to his feet and saluted hastily at the captain’s unexpected appearance. 

“Stand down corporal,” Erwin ordered, returning his salute, “I’m here to speak to the prisoner.” 

“Aye aye, sir,” the Marine replied, unbolting the door of the brig and stepping away a discrete distance. 

Inside the brig, the small barred cell was dimly lit by a single overhead lantern that swung and lurched with the motion of the ship. In the shifting shadows cast by the swaying lantern Erwin could just make out a small figure sitting huddled in the corner on a pile of old sailcloth. 

“Come to gloat?” Ackerman’s voice was low and grim. 

“No,” the captain replied, peering through the bars of the cell to see the prisoner more clearly. 

“What do you want then?” 

Ackerman pushed himself to his feet and stepped up to the bars. In the circle of dim light Erwin could see that his face was pale and drawn, narrow brows furrowed deeply over red-rimmed grey eyes. Had he been any other man, Erwin might have said he was afraid, but there Ackerman stood, defiant as always, glaring through the bars of his cell. 

“I want to know why you’re here.” 

“Ha!” Ackerman spat mirthlessly, holding up his manacled hands and gripping the cell bars. “I seem to recall it was you who put me here.” 

Despite his show of defiance, Erwin could see the tension thrumming through the small man’s body.

“Magnolia spoke to me today,” he said, watched Ackerman’s face intently for any sign of reaction. 

“Oh?” he replied, swallowing nervously. “What did he say?” 

“He didn’t say much. Something is clearly troubling him, but he seemed reluctant to speak.” 

“About time that boy learned to keep his mouth shut.” Ackerman muttered, turning his face away. 

“Ackerman,” Erwin started, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I have no wish to keep punishing you, but if you persist in this violent and obstinate behaviour, you leave me no option. So I’ll ask you again, why were you fighting?”

“None of your damn business. Sir.” 

“On my ship,” Erwin replied calmly, “everything is my business, including yours.” 

“Why don’t you ask Brown then?” Ackerman spat, knuckles white where they gripped the bars. 

“I did, he claims you attacked him without provocation. I don’t believe that’s the full story though, so I’ve taken the precaution of sending Brown off this ship until matters are settled.” 

“What?” Ackerman’s eyes blew wide, brows arching upwards in surprise, “Brown’s gone?” 

“Yes, I sent him ashore this afternoon with orders that he be transferred to the seaman’s hospital in Plymouth.”

“Fuck…” Ackerman breathed and with that, all the taught defiance seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped forwards, head dropping, as his hands slid down the bars of the cell. For a moment Erwin thought the man would fall to the floor and on instinct he reached out and caught his hands where they clenched loosely around the cell bars. 

“Levi,” he started softly, the name strangely familiar on his tongue, “tell me what happened.” 

Ackerman looked up in surprise and opened his mouth as if to speak, before stopping and shaking his head. 

“Nothing,” he said, “nothing happened, I stopped him before...”

“Who? Brown?” Erwin tightened his grip on the man’s hands, as if to convince him of his sincerity. “I will not having anyone lay hands on any boy aboard my ship, but you must tell me what happened.”

Ackerman looked up again and met Erwin’s gaze through the dark fall of his hair, but he remained silent. 

“I could have you court martialled, you know.” Erwin tried, but the threat sounded hollow to his own ears. 

“You could,” Ackerman nodded, stepping closer to the cell bars, closer to Erwin, “but you won’t.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“Because you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.” Erwin replied, suddenly painfully aware of his proximity to the other man, the closeness of his body, separated only by the bars of the cell, the small roughness of the hands beneath his own. “Get some sleep Ackerman,” Erwin growled, tearing his hands away with an effort, “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

The watch bell sounded four bells, the depths of the middle watch, but sleep eluded the captain. Erwin lay awake in his swaying cot, trying to ignore the sick feeling that slid in his stomach at the thought of punishing Ackerman again, and the spark that kindled in his chest when he remembered the smallness of his hands, the rough warmth of his skin, his fierce defiance and unexpected capitulation. 

Below, in the darkness of the brig, Ackerman measured the hours of the watch, each bell bringing his day of judgement inexorably closer. 

The day dawned overcast and squally and the pale winter sun had barely crept over the horizon when a despatch vessel came alongside the _Maria_ with orders to proceed immediately to St Mary’s Port in the Scilly Isles to rendezvous with the squadron there. The orders were emphatic that the _Maria_ should sail without delay and, for once, Erwin gave a silent prayer of thanks for the imperious nature of Admiralty orders. Ackerman’s punishment would have to wait. 

Despite the foul weather, Erwin’s mood lightened as the _Maria_ weighed anchor and sailed out of Falmouth harbour past St Mawes Castle and Pendennis Point. The wind was against them as the made their way down the Channel and by the time they turned the point at the Lizard, it was rising to a gale. 

“Shorten sail, Mr Zacharias,” the captain ordered “topsails and courses.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Zacharias saluted and bellowed the order that sent the topmen scurrying out along the yards. 

As they rounded the Lizard the squall hit the _Maria_ without warning, catching the ship flat aback just as a huge cross sea crashed over her quarter. The ship pitched wildly to starboard, and a sudden cry from above was followed a split second later by a wild yell of “Man overboard!”

Erwin moved without thinking. Throwing off his hat and jacket, he leapt onto the aft rail and jumped. The last thing he heard before hitting the water was Zacharias roaring the command to bring the ship about. The shock of the freezing water drove the breath from Erwin’s lungs and he gasped for air as he struggled to keep his head above the surging waves. At last he caught his breath and struck out with powerful strokes towards the small figure being tossed about like a cork in the pitching seas. Unlike many of his shipmates, who viewed the ability to swim with something akin to superstitious distrust, Erwin Smith was a strong swimmer, his father having taught him as a boy. He had put this uncommon skill to good use as a young lieutenant, and his courage and quick thinking had saved several fortunate seamen from drowning in the frigid waters of the Channel. However Erwin knew from bitter experience just how quickly even the strongest swimmer could succumb to cold and shock, so he kept his eye firmly fixed on the dark head bobbing in the storm tossed sea and focused all his will on reaching him. The cold was already seeping into Erwin’s bones, weighing down his limbs like lead, when his hand finally closed on the gasping man’s collar. Gripping him beneath the chin to keep his head above water, Erwin started back for the ship. But the sea was rising and the _Maria_ seemed impossibly distant, further than he could reach dragging the half conscious seaman through the water. Erwin struggled on through the towering waves, but his strength was failing, his grip on the man slipping as his fingers grew numb with cold and slowly, surely, with each feeble stroke he started to slip below the waves.


	7. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for corporal punishment and period typical gendered slurs. 
> 
> I've tried to keep nautical terminology to a minimum throughout, but if it would be helpful to have a reference there's a useful glossary of nautical terms on Wikipedia [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_nautical_terms). Or if you'd prefer a contemporary glossary there's [Falconers Dictionary of the Marine](http://southseas.nla.gov.au/refs/falc/contents.html).

Erwin fought with the last of his strength to keep his head above the water and his grip on the dead weight of the seaman as he struggled through the heaving waves. But his fingers were numb with cold and he was tired, so tired, and the man was slipping inexorably from his grasp. Then, just as he lost his grip, there, dead ahead, on the crest of a wave, was the _Maria_ ’s long boat, pulling through the sea towards them, with Farlan Church in the bows holding a lantern aloft to guide them through the waves. The sight of the long boat gave Erwin the last surge of strength he needed, seizing the drowning man as he began to slip below the waves, he struck out desperately for the light. At last he felt strong arms gripping his shoulders, hauling him into the boat and throwing an old tarpaulin cloak over him. It was only then, as Erwin sat coughing and shivering in stern sheets that he recognised the bedraggled figure huddled in the bottom of the boat as Alexander Magnolia. Church was crouching over the boy, one arm circling his shoulders protectively as he coughed and retched pitifully, but by some miracle, he was alive. And when they finally reached the _Maria_ it was Church who carried the wretched boy aboard. Helped by the boat crew, Erwin climbed up the side after them, his limbs heavy and shaking with cold and exhaustion. Mike Zacharias was there to haul him unceremoniously aboard, and as soon as his feet touched the deck, the taller man gripped him in a crushing embrace. 

“For God sake Erwin, are you insane? I thought we’d lost you. I thought we’d fucking lost you.” 

“I’m fine Mike,” Erwin croaked, his throat raw from the salt water, “just…just cold.” 

The lieutenant barked a relieved laugh and slapped him on the back so hard it left him coughing and reeling. 

“Where’s Magnolia?” Erwin gasped, once he’d caught his breath. “He needs to see the doctor.”

“Don’t worry Erwin,” Zacharias replied, “I’ve already sent him below to Dr Zoe. Now you need to get below too and get into some dry clothes before you freeze to death.” 

Fearing it was a very real possibility; Erwin went below without complaint. Down in his cabin, Dawkins, his irascible steward was waiting with fresh clothes and warm blankets, and Erwin allowed the elderly man to strip off his sodden clothes and fuss over him, all the while muttering curses about his foolishness that would make a sheet anchor man blush. Erwin accepted the warm clothes gratefully, and the dressing down meekly, as truthfully, he had never been so grateful for the irritable man’s genuine concern. By the time Erwin was dressed, swathed in several layers of blankets, and the steward had pressed a mug of hot grog into his freezing hands, his shivering had started to subside, but he still had that hollow numb feeling inside that he knew was more the effect of shock than cold. 

He was still nursing the steaming mug of grog when the door flew open and Dr Hanji Zoe burst in. 

“By the heavens Erwin! Am I glad to see you! How are you?” They marched over and placed one hand on his forehead and the other to the pulse below his jaw. “What in God’s name d’you think you’re playing at? That was crazy even by your standards!” 

“Hanji,” Erwin groaned, trying unsuccessfully to swat their hands away, “I’m fine, leave me alone.” 

“Fine?” The doctor peered at him sternly over the rim of their spectacles, while continuing to prod at him. “That water is cold enough to cause hypothermia in minutes, let alone the effects of shock….” 

“Honestly Hanji, I’m fine, I promise,” Erwin continued to protest, “just a little cold, that’s all.” 

The doctor ignored him and continued their poking and prodding for another few minutes before apparently satisfying themselves that the captain was not in immanent danger of keeling over from shock, hypothermia or some other unspecified complaint. 

“Anyway,” Erwin said, once the doctor had taken a seat, “never mind me, how’s the boy?” 

“Well…” the doctor began, pushing their spectacles up onto their forehead and crossing their arms, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’ve got a bit of a problem Erwin.” 

“Problem? Are they badly injured? They were still conscious when Church brought them aboard weren’t they?” 

“No, no, they’re not injured, well they have some nasty contusions to the lower abdomen, I think they must have struck the rigging on the way down, but they’re fine. They had a lucky escape really.” 

Hanji stopped abruptly, removing their spectacles from their forehead and rubbing at the smudged lenses. Erwin recognised the nervous gesture for what it was; the doctor rarely, if ever, cleaned their glasses. 

“What is it Hanji? What’s the matter?”

“The matter,” the doctor began slowly as though picking every word carefully, “is that the boy is not a boy. Magnolia is, well, a female.”

“A what?” Erwin’s brow furrowed in confusion, convinced he must have misheard.

“A female, an adolescent girl to be precise. Come on Erwin I know you’ve spent your life at sea, but you must have come across a woman once or twice.” 

“Of course I have Hanji…but Magnolia? You mean he’s…she’s a girl?” 

“That’s what I said.”

“But how do you…”

“Contusion of the lower abdomen Erwin, I had to examine them. They wouldn’t let me near them at first, got really agitated, I thought they were delirious with shock, but….well you can understand.”

Erwin nodded, though he was still having difficulty believing his ears and was starting to wonder if he was delirious with shock himself. 

“I couldn't get much out of her,” Hanji continued, “she’s clearly terrified, but I did get her name.”

“And?” 

“Isabel. Her name is Isabel Magnolia.”

Erwin stared at Hanji open mouthed, but the doctor just shrugged.

“Who else knows about this?” he asked, unsure what else to say.

“Only Church, Ackerman and…”

“And Brown.” Erwin cut in. Hanji nodded. “Dammit. Brown must have found out and that’s what started all the trouble.” 

Suddenly it all fell into place; Ackerman’s fierce protection of Magnolia, his antipathy towards Brown, and Magnolia’s unwillingness to speak up lest her true identity be discovered.

“God damn it.” Erwin swore again. His head was starting to throb painfully. “Where is she now? Have you confined her to the sick bay?”

“No, I let her go back to her berth with Church. She was less agitated with him nearby, and she’ll be safe enough now that Brown is off the ship.”

Erwin looked at the doctor aghast.

“You let her go back to her berth? Have you lost your mind Hanji? She’s a _girl_ , you can’t send her below with the rest of the men!”

“What do you expect me to do?” the doctor got up and started pacing the small cabin. “I can’t have her under my feet in the sick bay, there’s little enough space down there as it is. She may be female Erwin, but she’s also a capable seaman who, might I remind you, has been serving aboard your ship for the last six months.”

“Capable? She just fell from the rigging Hanji! She could have been drowned!” 

“Zacharias said the foot-rope snapped, it could have happened to anyone. Honestly Erwin, she’s at least as capable as the rest of the boys on this ship, you know that.” 

“That’s as maybe, but I can not have a girl aboard this ship. She’s already caused enough trouble. I’ve lost two good seamen because of her. I’ve had to put one ashore and I’ve got another in the brig.” 

“Oh come on Erwin,” Hanji stopped pacing and threw their hands up in exasperation, “you can hardly blame her for that! Brown showed his true colours and got what he deserved if you ask me. If that’s the kind of good seaman you want on your ship then…” 

“Sorry, you’re right Hanji,” Erwin sighed. “That was unfair. But she can’t stay, it’s not safe. As soon as we return to port, she goes ashore.” 

“Aye captain,” the doctor replied, somewhat sourly, and turned to leave, “though I suspect Ackerman might have something to say about that.”

Ackerman. Erwin groaned and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to ease the searing headache. He would have to confront the man. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what had transpired once Brown discovered Magnolia’s identity, and Erwin felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what might have happened had Ackerman not been on hand to intervene. But at what cost? The man had already been punished once, undeservedly, and having contravened the Articles of War again, he must be punished a second time. Had it been within Erwin’s power to pardon Ackerman, he would have done so in a shot, yet despite the fact that the captain’s word was law aboard his own ship, Erwin was bound by honour, oath and duty to uphold the Articles. In a court of law, the fact that Ackerman had acted to protect the girl might be regarded as mitigating circumstances, but aboard ship that did nothing to detract from the fact that he had broken the 23rd Article by drawing a knife on Brown. Pardoning Ackerman would risk compromising Magnolia’s identity and Erwin didn’t want to think about what might happen if it became common knowledge that there was a girl below decks. He could send Ackerman ashore to face a court martial and hope that the Admiralty would acquit him once the full facts came to light, however Erwin had scant faith in Admiralty justice. There were plenty of senior captains of the old school who would gladly see a man of low birth and questionable character severely punished for having the audacity to bring a woman aboard ship as a member of crew. The fact that many of these same captains regularly brought their own mistresses aboard and turned a blind eye to the innumerable dockside whores that serviced the fleet was neither here nor there. Whores, like rats, were a fact of life and barely worthy of acknowledgement, a woman masquerading as a man was an abomination, a perversion of the natural order and the laws of God and man. Erwin knew without doubt that if he placed Ackerman at the mercy of an Admiralty court martial the consequences would be disastrous for both him and Magnolia, and that was intolerable. The very thought of turning Ackerman over to the Admiralty, of potentially loosing the man, provoked such a profound and visceral reaction that Erwin felt as though the air had been punched out of his lungs and for a moment it was all he could do sit and catch his breath. No, he must deal with Ackerman himself, and in such a way that would deflect any untoward attention away from Magnolia, until such time as she could be safely deposited at the nearest home port. 

Erwin took a deep breath and swallowed the remainder of the now cold grog in the tankard he still clutched between unsteady hands, then he called the Marine sentry to summon the prisoner from the brig. As he sat and waited, the numb cold inside his chest seemed to creep into his throat, seep into his limbs, and by the time there was a sharp rap on the cabin door he was shivering again. 

“Come,” he called, realising too late that he was still sitting swathed in a pile of blankets. He hastily got to his feet and bundled the blankets into his adjacent sleeping cabin, re-emerging, still in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves, just as the Marine sergeant ushered Ackerman into the cabin. The man looked drawn and unkempt; dark stubble shaded his jaw, his queue had come undone and inky black hair hung loose over his face obscuring his eyes. His hands were manacled in heavy shackles. 

“Remove those at once.” Erwin growled at the Marine, his voice still rough from the salt water.

“Aye sir,” the Marine replied, fumbling to remove the shackles and beating a hasty retreat. 

Ackerman rolled his shoulders and rubbed the welts on his wrists, before scraping his hair back off his face and re-tying his queue. When he looked up and took in Erwin’s somewhat dishevelled appearance his brows lifted in surprise.

“Please excuse my state of undress,” Erwin said, with as much dignity as he could muster. 

“Likewise,” Ackerman replied dryly, running one hand over his stumbled jaw. 

“Sit down Ackerman.” Erwin gestured to the chair by his desk, but the man remained standing. 

“Is this a social call?” he asked.

“No it’s an order. Sit down.” 

Ackerman quirked his head but he sat down. Erwin perched on the edge of the desk in front of him, feet braced wide against the rolling of the ship, too agitated to sit himself. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Magnolia?” he began.

“Tell you what?” Ackerman’s expression remained impassive, but there it was again, that nervous bob of his throat. Erwin took a deep breath. 

“Ackerman, earlier this morning Magnolia fell from the yard when a squall took the ship aback. We got her back aboard and during subsequent medical treatment, Dr Zoe discovered that…”

“What?” Ackerman interrupted, jumping to his feet. His face drained of what little colour it possessed, the dark stubble on his jaw and the deep shadows under his eyes standing out in stark relief. “Where is she? What happened?”

“It’s all right,” Erwin placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, feeling the warm solid muscle beneath the worn linen of his shirt. Ackerman looked up at him, fear and concern plain in his eyes, and something in Erwin’s chest tightened. “She’s fine,” he continued, squeezing the man’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture, before hastily releasing him. “But why, _why_ didn’t you tell me?” 

Ackerman closed his eyes and exhaled a long shuddering breath before sinking back down into the chair. 

“Tell me…tell me what happened first.”

“There’s not much to tell really, the squall caught the ship aback while the topmen were aloft, and the foot rope snapped pitching Magnolia overboard. I went in after her while Lieutenant Zacharias brought the ship too and lowered the long boat. Church was in the boat and helped bring her back aboard. She has some bruising to the abdomen but Dr Zoe said…”

“You?” Ackerman looked up, face still deathly pale, grey eyes wide with shock, “You went over the side? In this sea?” 

“Well yes, but…”

“Fuck. Not many men would do that.” Ackerman scrubbed one hand over his face and shook his head in disbelief. 

“That’s beside the point. What in God’s name do you think you were doing bringing a female, a girl, aboard my ship?”

“What was _I_ doing?” Ackerman’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _You_ ran my ship down, _you_ pressed us into service.”

“Yes but…” Erwin began but Ackerman cut him off again.

“What the hell else could I do? Leave her behind to be hauled off to the receiving ship with the rest of my men? Have you ever been aboard a receiving hulk _Captain_ Smith? Do you have any idea what would have happened to her there?” 

Erwin grimaced. Receiving ships were old unseaworthy hulks, moored in ports and dockyards, used to house pressed men, crews in transit, and “recruits” swept from local gaols. They also housed all manner of criminals and prisoners awaiting trial and sentencing. They were grim places where disinterested officers turned a blind eye to all manner of abuse and depravity and Masters at Arms enforced discipline ruthlessly and arbitrarily. Erwin had seen more than enough of receiving ships during his time at sea and he knew Ackerman was right, those hell holes were no place for a girl. 

“You’re right,” he sighed. “But this is a ship of war Ackerman, this is no place for a girl either. How old is she anyway? Fourteen? Fifteen?” 

“Nineteen,” Ackerman snapped. “Older than most of your fucking midshipmen and a better seaman to boot.” 

“A seaman? And is that all she is to you?” Erwin raised his brows in query. 

“She’s…” Ackerman frowned and faltered, avoiding Erwin’s gaze. “She’s my sister.” 

“Sister?” 

“As good as. She stowed away on the _Rose_ a few years back, Farlan found her in the hold after we put to sea. We were going to send her back ashore but she was on the run from some kind of trouble and, and I couldn’t … Well, anyway, she proved to be as good a hand as any, and better than most, so I kept her on and she’s been with us ever since. She’s got no one else, just me and Farlan, we’re all the family she has.”

Ackerman looked up and held Erwin’s gaze. It was painfully obvious he was telling the truth. 

“And she’s lucky to have you,” Erwin replied gently, “but she cannot remain aboard this vessel. As soon as we return to port she _must_ go ashore.” 

“Yeah?” Ackerman was on his feet again, stepping forward into Erwin’s space and glaring up at him, inches away from his face. “And then what? What do you think will happen to her once you sail away Captain Smith? What do you reckon happens to girls who are dumped on the dockside without a soul in the world?”

“Well, I’m sure…” Erwin started, but the words died in his throat. He could almost feel the anger radiating off the smaller man and he was torn between backing away and leaning in to that intoxicating heat. He swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of the desk least his hands move of their own volition. “I’m sure she could find employment in domestic service or as a maid in one of the inns or lodging houses.” 

“Yeah,” Ackerman spat, “I’m sure she’d find work in _service_ soon enough.” His voice dripped contempt, leaving Erwin without any doubt as to what kind of service he was referring to. “She’s safer here, where I can keep an eye out for her.” Ackerman stepped away from Erwin, crossing his arms and turning his back contemptuously. 

“You’ve protected her so far, but at what cost to your self? What happens when another of the men discovers there’s a nineteen-year-old girl aboard ship? You can’t watch her every second of every day. What happens if next time you’re not there? What happens if you are? I have no wish to see you hanging from the yard arm for killing a man.”

Ackerman’s back stiffened but he did not turn around.

“Besides,” Erwin continued. “We are at war. The French fleet is massing in Brest and could put to sea any day now. We could receive orders to sail to the Mediterranean, the Baltic, even the Indies. Do you know how many men die of yellow fever in the West Indies? Do you know how few return? Is that really what you want for Isabel? You know I can not refuse an order to sail.”

Ackerman shook his head, shoulders slumping forward and it pained Erwin inexplicably to see him so defeated. He gazed at Ackerman’s back, searching for words to reassure him, when the spark of an idea came to him. He reached out one hand and placed it hesitantly on Ackerman’s shoulder, he tensed immediately, but allowed Erwin to turn him around until they were face to face. 

“Listen…Levi…perhaps I can offer a compromise. I don’t have much in the world, but I have a small house on the Severn, north of Bristol. It belonged to my mother’s family, she retired there after she was widowed, and when she died it passed to me. Isabel could go there, perhaps find work in the village. I could pay her a small stipend to look after the house in the meantime; it could do with some care and attention. I can’t afford much, but it would be better than nothing.” 

Ackerman looked up at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Why not?” Erwin answered. “Magnolia is one of my crew. She’s served this ship well in the short time she’s been aboard, but in all consciousness I can not let her stay. It’s the least I can do. She’ll be safe and have a roof over her head if nothing else.”

Ackerman shook his head in disbelief

“You’d do that? And you want nothing in return?”

“Yes I would, and no, I don’t want anything in return, except perhaps a house that hasn’t fallen into disrepair when I return from sea.”

Ackerman dropped his head, mulling over the idea. A lock of hair had slipped free from his queue, falling forward over his face and Erwin had to fight the urge to tuck it back into place behind his ear. 

“All right,” he said after a moment, tilting his chin up in that familiar defiant gesture, “I’ll speak to her, she won’t want to leave but I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. I’ll send her down to the brig with Church during the dog watches, perhaps you can both make her see sense. I’ll also have Dr Zoe reassure her that no one else will know of her identity.” 

Ackerman swallowed audibly and nodded. Erwin was suddenly painfully aware that his hand was still resting on the man’s shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the hard muscle there, and for all the world he could not stop himself.

“There’s one more thing…” Erwin continued softly. “You understand that I must punish you. I know why you acted as you did, and I’m glad that you were there when it mattered. I’ll see to it that Brown never returns to this ship, but I can not let the matter go. To let brawling go unpunished would risk a break down of discipline aboard this ship and I cannot allow that to happen.” 

“I know,” Ackerman replied simply, “I understand. It doesn’t matter.” 

“But…”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

“But you will be flogged Levi.” Erwin tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“I know.” 

Erwin opened his mouth to speak and shut it again, at a loss for words.

“I understand Smith, I know how discipline works. And believe me, I’ve survived worse. I’ll go to the gratings, just…just promise me no one else will hear of this, that Isabel will be safe.”

Erwin drew himself up to his full height, dipping his head to avoid the deck beams and, releasing his grip on Ackerman’s shoulder, he placed his hand over his heart. 

“I promise, you have my word, as an officer and a gentleman.” 

Ackerman snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“All right, cut the crap Smith.”

Erwin couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“We should put into St Mary’s tomorrow and you’ll be called on deck at the forenoon watch. You’ll have to return to the brig until then I'm afraid.”

“I’ll survive,” Ackerman shrugged, “and…thank you.” 

And for a moment Erwin thought Ackerman would turn away, but instead he held his gaze, grey eyes dark with something Erwin could not read. Then lifting his hand, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off Erwin’s forehead.

“Your hair is still wet,” he muttered.

Erwin froze, the air between them thick with tension, like a threatening storm. And then just as suddenly, Ackerman dropped his hand and stepped back, a faint flush colouring his cheeks. 

“Marine!” Erwin called, his voice low and rough. 

The Marine entered promptly and stood to attention. 

“Take the prisoner back to the brig.” 

“Aye aye, sir.” 

The Marine unhooked the manacles from his belt and Ackerman obediently held out his hands. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Erwin snapped. “And see that this man has food and water to wash with. Need I remind you that we treat our prisoners with dignity?”

“Aye aye, captain.” The Marine saluted and led Ackerman away without a backward glance. 

Erwin watched him go, the cold hollow feeling in his chest, replaced by a heat so intense he feared it might consume him.

The _Maria_ arrived off St Mary’s just after dawn the following morning. The storm had abated and the ship sailed into the harbour on a light breeze and a heavy swell. The harbor was crowded with fishing boats and small merchant vessels that had sought refuge from the storm, but squadron that they had been ordered to rendezvous with was no where to be seen, so after dropping anchor Erwin sent Lieutenant Darlett ashore to make enquiries. The crew spent the morning watch employed repairing minor storm damage and Erwin ordered that the footropes on all yards to be checked and checked again for signs of wear or disrepair. 

At seven bells he went below to his cabin where Dawkins had laid out his second best dress uniform. As he pulled on the heavy blue jacket with the two plain epaulettes of a captain of three years standing, Erwin donned the implacable façade of an officer of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. And when he ducked his head to tie his neck cloth in front of the small mirror above his washstand, his face revealed nothing of the emotions that threatened to unman him. 

As the watch bell sounded to mark the beginning of the forenoon watch, Captain Erwin Smith stepped onto the quarterdeck. He cut an imposing figure; tall, stern and grim faced. Lieutenant Zacharias was already waiting on the quarterdeck, dressed in a rather shabby dress uniform that had seen better days. 

“Bring the prisoner up from the brig and assemble the ships company Mr Zacharias.” 

“Aye aye, sir,” Zacharias saluted and passed the order. 

The captain watched from the quarterdeck as the boatswain’s pipes shrilled and the _Maria_ ’s officers and men gathered in the waist while two Marines escorted the prisoner up from below. The carpenter had already rigged the gratings at the gangway and the bosun’s mate was standing by, a heavy baize bag slung over his shoulder. Church had worked his way to the front of the throng and stood silently behind Ackerman, but Magnolia was nowhere to be seen. Erwin had ordered her to remain below decks and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that she had obeyed. 

Once the company had assembled, the captain descended the quarterdeck companion, followed by Lieutenant Zacharias, and took his place in front of the waiting officers. 

“Bring the prisoner forward,” he ordered.

The Marines pushed Ackerman forward, his hands were shackled again, and he stumbled slightly as the ship lurched under the swell. His expression gave nothing away. 

The captain’s voice rang out loud and clear as he read the charges and invoked the 23rd Article of War. 

“If any person in the fleet shall quarrel or fight with any other person or tending to make any quarrel or disturbance, he shall, upon being convicted thereof, suffer such punishment as the offence shall deserve. Able Seaman Ackerman you are accused of causing a disturbance by fighting with Able Seaman Brown and attacking him with a knife. How do you plead?”

Ackerman lifted his head, cold grey eyes meeting the captain’s.

“Guilty.”

Erwin held his gaze. 

“As captain of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_ , I hereby sentence you to twenty four lashes.” 

The muscle at side of Ackerman’s jaw tightened but otherwise he remained impassive. 

One of the Marines unlocked his shackles and Ackerman stepped up to the grating where the bosun’s mate stripped him of his shirt. The scars from his previous flogging had not yet faded and ran in long red welts down his back. Erwin squared his shoulders and inhaled a deep breath as Ackerman lifted his arms and the mate seized him up to the gratings. 

“Dr Zoe if you please.” 

The doctor gave the prisoner a cursory examination then nodded solemnly to the captain. The bosun’s mate pulled the cat from the baize back and swung it a few times to shake out the knots. The tails whistled through the air, a thin cruel sound. Ackerman braced his feet apart, gripped the gratings with strong fists, and dropped his forehead against the rough wood. 

“Begin.”

The mate swung the cat and Erwin focused all his attention on Ackerman, willing him to turn his head. A split second before the lash fell, he turned, locking eyes with the captain, then the blow landed, punched the breath from his lungs with a low grunt. 

Erwin held Ackerman’s gaze as the mate swung the cat again and again, willing him to endure as the lash painted his back with livid welts, blood spattering across the deck as the lash swung and fell. 

Erwin stood motionless as the bosun counted off the strokes, not a flicker of emotion crossed his face, though a single litany ran through his head. _Sorry Levi. I'm sorry._

Throughout it all Ackerman never cried out, never begged, never pleaded, the only sound he made was the heavy exhalation of breath as the lash fell again and again, and never once did his eyes leave Erwin’s face. But one man can only endure so much; as the eighteenth stroke fell his grip on the gratings loosened and by the twentieth he hung limply from the ropes that bound him. And though his eyes remained fixed on the captain, Erwin saw the moment that his fierce bright gaze started to dim, and consciousness started to slip away. 

At last the final stroke fell. 

“Stop.” The captain commanded. 

The bosun’s mate tucked the cat into his belt, tails running red with blood that dripped onto the deck, then he released the ropes that bound Ackerman to the gratings. Ackerman blinked, his eyes clearing momentarily, and Erwin held his breath. He made it three steps away from the gangway before his knees buckled, but Church and the doctor were there to catch him before he hit the deck. 

“Dr Zoe, take that man below. That’s an order.” The captain snapped. “Company dismissed!” 

The officers saluted, the men knuckled their foreheads, and returned to their duties, sullen and dejected. 

“Mr Zacharias,” the captain turned to his first lieutenant, “take the deck.”

“Aye aye, captain.” 

The captain nodded once and went below. 

In the solitude of his cabin, Erwin Smith sat down on his cot, placed his head in his hands and wept. 

By the time Lieutenant Darlett came back aboard, the captain was back on the quarterdeck, aloof and composed. 

“Commodore Shadis left this with the harbor master sir,” Darlett said as he handed a letter to the captain. “It took me a while to track him down. He was out seeing to the storm damage on the harbor wall.” 

Taking the letter below to his cabin, Erwin broke open the seal with his fingernail and read. 

_Their Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty request and require Captain Erwin Smith of His Majesty’s Ship the Maria to proceed without delay to Ushant and there to join the Channel Fleet under the command of Admiral Lord Pixis._

Erwin stared at the letter in turmoil. The orders were clear, the _Maria_ was to sail to France to join the blockade of Brest. 

It was well into the second dogwatch, after the _Maria_ had taken on fresh water, victuals and supplies and set a course for Ushant, that Erwin was able to go below to the sick bay. 

“Hey Erwin,” Hanji greeted him as he entered. They looked tired and uncharacteristically subdued. 

“Is he here?” Erwin asked, lowering his voice. 

“Yes,” Hanji inclined their head to a cot at the rear of the cramped sick bay. “He’s sleeping, I knocked him out.”

Erwin raised his eyebrows. “How did you manage that?”

“I gave him enough laudanum to fell a horse.”

“He let you?” Erwin asked in surprise and the doctor smiled grimly.

“Let’s just say that I didn’t give him a choice and he wasn’t in a position to argue.” 

“How is he?”

“Cut to ribbons, but he’ll live. As long as I can keep him free of infection, he’ll be just fine. Stubborn little fucker,” they added affectionately and Erwin felt a stab of guilt and shame.

“Can I see him?” 

“Of course. You won’t get any sense out of him, but go ahead. I’ll leave you to it.” 

The cot was lit by a single small lantern that swung steadily from a hook overhead, as the ship rolled and pitched with the passage of the waves. Ackerman was lying on his front, wounds dressed in clean bandages. His eyes were closed, dark hair feathering over his brow, and despite the blood seeping through the fresh bandages, and the ugly bruises purpling around the edges of the dressing, he appeared to be sleeping soundly. Erwin stood and looked down at him, chest constricting so painfully that he feared he might never breathe again. 

“Levi…” he started, though he had no words to voice his sorrow and regret.

Ackerman shifted slightly, making a small pained sound, and Erwin instinctively reached out a hand to calm him, running his hand gently over his cheek, his hair, marveling at the softness of it. 

“I’m sorry Levi, I know I promised you, I know I said I’d take care of Isabel, but it’s going to have to wait.”

Ackerman’s eyes flickered open and he looked up for a moment, before turning his face into Erwin’s palm and slipping back into a deep narcotic sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on women at sea...
> 
> Although women were not permitted to serve aboard British Royal Naval ships until 1993, that does not mean that there were no women in the fleet during the Age of Sail. Although it was uncommon for commissioned officers (admirals, commodores, captains, lieutenants) to bring their wives to sea (mistresses were another matter), as such a situation would be unfitting for a lady of good breeding, warrant officers (sailing masters, pursers, gunners, carpenters, etc.), who often remained with a single ship for their entire career, were sometimes accompanied by their wives however. Some seamen also brought their wives to sea and these women were known to serve alongside their husbands in battle, and even gave birth at sea, sometimes simultaneously! Daniel Tremendous Mackenzie was born on HMS _Tremendous_ during the battle of the Glorious First of June in 1794. His rank was recorded as “baby” but his mother’s name is unknown. Unfortunately because women were not recorded on ships’ musters we will never know the exact number that were at sea, nor their names. The same is true of the vast numbers of prostitutes who were present on every ship docked in port. 
> 
> There are also a number of contemporary records of women passing as men to serve aboard ships during this period. Most of these accounts are unsubstantiated or have been disproven, however some have been verified, most notably "William Brown" a black African woman, who served for at least a dozen years on naval ships during the Napoleonic Wars, and Mary Lacy who served as both a seaman and shipwright while passing as a man, and who wrote an account of her life at sea after retiring.
> 
> If you’re interested in reading more about women at sea in the Age of Sail I can highly recommend Suzanne Stark’s short, witty, and impeccably researched [Female Tars: Women Aboard Ship in the Age of Sail](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Female-Tars-Written-Publisher-Paperback/dp/B00SLU8LMA/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1515369760&sr=8-2&keywords=Female+Tars).


	8. Ushant

The _Maria_ made heavy weather of the crossing to Ushant. A voyage that took barely a day with fair winds and following seas, took three times as long with the wind dead against them. Captain Smith spent every waking hour on deck, minutely adjusting the trim and set of the sails in an effort to make some headway, as the _Maria_ battled stubbornly against the persistent sou’westerly gale. 

At the end of each day he went below, cold, wet, tired and frustrated but instead of going to his cabin, to shrug out of his wet clothes and fall exhausted into his cot, he made his way down to the sick bay, as he had at regular intervals since leaving St Mary’s. The doctor had kept Ackerman heavily sedated throughout the crossing after informing Erwin “it’s the only way to keep the little shit lying down”. Usually, when the captain took up station beside the small cot at the back of the sick bay, Ackerman was dead to the world, but Erwin was content just to watch the rise and fall of his breath, the crease of his brow, the callused hand that lay limp and relaxed on the pillow. It was the very least he could do. The guilt that plagued him for inflicting such cruel and unwarranted punishment on the man weighed heavily on Erwin’s conscience, and he felt a responsibility to bear witness to his suffering. The doctor grumbled at Erwin and complained about him getting under their feet, but they said nothing when they found him sitting on the sea chest beside the cot, sound asleep, one hand tangled in the other man’s hair. Hanji peered down at them for a moment, frowning in quiet concern, before dousing the lamp and leaving them to sleep in peace. 

By the third day, the wind had started to drop and veer to the northwest, fair for France. When Erwin went below at the end of morning watch, he found Ackerman still lying in the cot, but very much awake and in a state of ill humour. 

“Good morning. I see that you’re rejoined us.” Erwin greeted him, resisting the urge to sit down in his usual position beside the cot. Instead, he stood back rather awkwardly, hands clasped firmly behind his back.

“What the fuck did that crazy doctor give me?” Ackerman groaned, voice thick and rough from sleep and disuse. 

“Laudanum.”

“Fuck, I told them I didn’t want any of that shit.” 

Ackerman winced and inhaled sharply as he attempted to push himself up into a sitting position. 

“If you had agreed to stay put, they wouldn’t have had to knock you out.” Erwin stepped forward and placed his hand on Ackerman’s shoulder, gently pushing him back down onto the cot. “And I suggest you lie still unless you want me to call Dr Zoe to come and knock you out again.”

Ackerman scowled and shrugged off Erwin’s hand but he consented to lie down again. From the grey pallor of his face Erwin could see he was still in considerable pain. 

“How long have I been out?” he asked. 

“Three days.”

“Three days?” Ackerman’s eyes blew wide, before narrowing again. He paused for a moment, focusing on the sound and motion of the ship. “Where are we? We’re not in St Mary’s anymore.”

“No, we’re not,” Erwin shook his head, and took a deep breath, trying to ease the heavy weight in his chest. “We’re on a course for Ushant, we should be there by noon. I’m sorry, I know I promised you that I would put Isabel ashore, that I would see her to safety, but I received orders to sail immediately. We’re to join the Channel Fleet.” 

Ackerman watched him through heavy lids, expression closed. 

“Where is she?”

“She’s here.” Erwin replied. 

“Here?” 

“I thought it was safer to keep her aboard rather than putting her ashore in St Mary’s, but I’ve taken her out of the top. She’s here in the sick bay as Dr Zoe’s assistant now. I had some of the stores shifted and the carpenter rig a small cabin for her beside the doctor’s. She’ll be safer down here. I’m sorry Levi, there’s nothing more I can do until we return to England.” 

Ackerman pinched his eyes shut and swore softly, but when he looked up again he nodded.

“You’re right, she’s better off here. Isabel and Hanji in a confined space though? They’ll fucking kill each other. Or wreck your ship at least.” 

“Yes,” Erwin smiled ruefully, the weight lifting a little, “I was rather concerned about that and the doctor took some persuading, but they seem to be getting along like a house on fire.”

Ackerman snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“That’s what I was afraid of. So how long are you going to keep me here?” 

“I want you to stay here where Dr Zoe can keep an eye on you until the end of the week, but you’re relieved of your duties for a fortnight?” 

“A fortnight? Fuck that. I’ll be fine in a few days.” 

“That’s an order Ackerman. You’ll stay here until the doctor discharges you and you will only return to your duties on my command.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Ackerman replied dryly, but there was a spark in his grey eyes that caught in Erwin’s chest and kindled something there. 

The _Maria_ arrived off Ushant a little after noon and had barely backed her sails and come too before the flagship was signaling the captain to come aboard. Erwin hurriedly changed into his best dress uniform and made his way down the side where the captain’s gig was waiting with his coxswain and boat crew dressed in their Sunday best. Many captains decked out their gig and boat crews in all manner of finery, but Erwin could not afford such fripperies. Still, his crew had done him proud, dressed as they were in clean smocks and neckerchiefs, with the _Maria_ ’s name embroidered into their cap bands. 

The huge 100-gun flagship, HMS _Sina_ , towered above the _Maria_ ’s gig as she came along side, and Erwin scrambled up the tumblehome with as much dignity as he could muster. As he came over the side, he was greeted by the shrill call of the bosun’s pipes, a neat line of sideboys in white gloves, and the flagship’s Second Lieutenant Hannes. 

“Captain Smith,” Hannes saluted, “Admiral Lord Pixis will see you below in the great cabin.”

Erwin had served aboard a number of flagships in his youth but the sheer scale of these first-rate vessels still took his breath away, particularly now that he’d grown used to the _Maria_ ’s cramped quarters. The great cabin of the Sina was hardly opulent by the ostentatious standards of some admirals, but it was still stately and well appointed. A thick wool carpet, woven in a fine pattern of red roses, covered the deck and the great guns were draped in baize covers of the same deep rich red. An imposing mahogany table surrounded by a dozen finely upholstered chairs took up much of the cabin, while a side cabinet groaned under the weight of bottles and decanters that glittered in the thin winter sunlight that streamed in through the huge stern windows where Admiral Lord Pixis stood, holding a crystal glass of brandy. Pixis was something of a maverick; a hard drinking officer of the old school, he had risen from obscure origins to the highest office, Vice-Admiral of the Red, by dint of luck, courage and sheer longevity. He was well known throughout the service and had been at sea for so long that scuttlebutt said he was rumored so have served as midshipman aboard the Ark.

The deckhead of the cabin easily cleared six feet and Erwin pulled himself up to his full height as he stood to attention and saluted smartly. 

“Captain Erwin Smith of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_.” 

“Ah Captain Smith!” The Admiral smiled warmly, his shrewd intelligent eyes disappearing in a mass of wrinkles. “I’ve heard good things about you.” 

“Thank you sir.” 

“Take a seat my boy, take a seat.” Pixis gestured to the table and, crossing to the side cabinet, poured Erwin a generous measure of brandy.

By the time Erwin returned to the _Maria_ an hour later, his head was swimming from Pixis’ brandy and he had to send Dawkins to the galley to fix a pot of strong coffee. Assembling his officers in the _Maria_ ’s considerably smaller and infinitely less luxurious cabin, he spread a chart of Brest roads on the table in front of them. 

“We’ve been appointed to the inshore squadron,” he explained. “The main body of the fleet, under the command of Admiral Lord Pixis, maintains station here, off Ushant, unless they’re driven off by foul weather, then they retreat to Plymouth until such time as they can return. The inshore squadron, commanded by Captain Sir Keith Shadis, is composed of six heavy frigates, two luggers and a fast cutter. They maintain the close blockade of Brest and remain on station here in the outer road at all times, unless they are chased off by the French or the weather. More often than not it’s the weather.” One of the midshipmen sniggered and Erwin fixed him with a stern glance before continuing. “In which case they retreat to Douarnenez Bay. We are to join Shadis’ squadron in order to maintain the blockade and to patrol the coast north as far as Point Saint Matthew and south to the Penmark Rocks.” 

Erwin marked each point with his finger on the map as his officers listened attentively. Lieutenant Zacharias hummed and stroked his moustache. 

“That’s a rough stretch of coastline, regardless of the threat posed by the French,” he remarked. 

“It is, Mr Zacharias,” Erwin agreed, “and I need hardly remind you all of that fact,  
but I trust you all to do your duty and do it well.”

“Aye, sir,” the officers replied to a man. 

When Erwin entered the sick bay later in the afternoon watch he found Ackerman sitting up and talking quietly to Isabel Magnolia. The girl glared at Erwin as he entered, before saluting with a halfhearted “Captain Smith sir” and beating a hasty retreat. Ackerman said nothing, he simply stared up at the captain, and not for the first time, Erwin had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see straight through his carefully maintained façade of the poised and professional naval officer, to the man that lay beneath. 

“We’re to join the inshore squadron,” Erwin began, for want of something better to say. “We’ll be patrolling the coast north to Point Saint Matthew, and south as far as Hodierne and the Penmarks. 

“Audierne Bay?” Erwin caught the inflection in Ackerman’s pronunciation, but said nothing. “That’s a dangerous lee shore.”

“You know it?”

“Maybe.” 

Erwin fixed him with a look.

“How well?”

“Well enough.” 

Erwin continued to eye him skeptically. Ackerman held his gaze boldly, before huffing out a mirthless laugh. 

“Better than any man in this sorry fleet I’ll wager.”

Erwin raised one eyebrow. 

“That’s a bold claim. You, ah… had ‘business’ here I take it? 

“Perhaps.” Ackerman shrugged non-committedly, wincing slightly as his shoulders rose and fell. 

“Well, perhaps your knowledge of these waters will be useful then.” 

Ackerman said nothing.

“You speak French?” Erwin continued.

“A little.” 

“And the local language?” 

“Enough to get by. We had a Chouan pilot aboard the Rose for a while. Miserable old bastard but knew these waters like the back of his hand.” 

Erwin shook his head but couldn’t suppress a small smile.

“Well, Ackerman, I’m sure your skills will be an asset to the service, however you came by them.” 

“Perhaps,” Ackerman replied again, easing himself down onto the cot, though not before Erwin caught the slight smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth. 

When Erwin left shortly after, he found Magnolia skulking outside the makeshift cabin aft of the sick bay. 

“Magnolia,” he said, “how are you finding your new berth?” 

It was the first time the captain had spoken to her directly since her identity had come to light, and he was at pains to put her at ease. 

Magnolia looked up at him with wide green eyes before blurting out “I won’t go ashore sir, Levi told me what you said and I won’t go.”

“Well, Magnolia, none of us will be going anywhere for the foreseeable future. We are to stay here to maintain the blockade. But as soon as we return to England, you must go ashore, but I promise you, you will have a roof over your head and a small stipend. It won’t be much but it should be enough for you to get by.” 

“I won’t go,” she repeated stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Isabel,” Erwin began, and the girl startled at the use of her given name. “You have my word as a gentlemen and as your captain that I will do my utmost to protect your identity, but even I can not guarantee that one of the men will not discover you. And I need not remind you that we are bare leagues from the French coast. The Brest fleet could put to sea at any moment and if the _Maria_ is ordered into battle, I can not refuse to fight.” 

“I can fight,” she snapped, glaring up at him defiantly. 

“Yes, I’m sure you can, but I would rather you did not have to.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Erwin cut in. “Able Seaman Magnolia, need I remind you that you are a member of my crew, and as such you are bound to obey my orders. You have served this ship well, I trust you will continue to do so, until such time as we return to England.”

“Aye sir,” Magnolia replied, still rather sullen, but her cheeks flushed with something that Erwin hoped was pride. 

The next day dawned bright and clear as the _Maria_ left Ushant and set a course for France. With a fresh wind following, and the pale winter sun sparkling off the grey waters, they had a fair passage and before the morning was out they were cruising past the lighthouse and ruined abbey of Point Saint Matthew. Some of the younger boys crowded along the side of the ship, pointing and chattering excitedly at their first sight of the enemy’s shores. But by the time they reached the outer road of Brest they had fallen silent, staring with wide eyes as the Maria sailed past heavily defended signal stations and shore batteries, right into the mouth of the Goulet where they found the frigates of Commodore Sir Keith Shadis’ inshore squadron. 

Erwin knew the commodore by reputation only; a gifted frigate captain, he had distinguished himself in the American wars and been knighted for his services. But the man Erwin found aboard the frigate _Trost_ was very far removed from the _beau idéal_ of the dashing naval officer. Keith Shadis was a thin gaunt man, old before his years and worn down by the rigors of the service. There was none of the conviviality of the flagship; Shadis greeted his new captain without ceremony, issued his orders perfunctorily, and dismissed him promptly. And when Erwin returned to the _Maria_ , it was with the impression of a man who was stretched to the point of breaking.

“What are our orders, captain?” Lieutenant Zacharias asked, as Erwin came back aboard the _Maria_. 

“We’re to take up station at the mouth of the Passage du Raz and monitor all ships that enter or leave the Goulet, reporting back to the Commodore daily. He’ll send the cutter _Berg_ to carry despatches.”

“I thought Pixis said we were to patrol the coast?” Zacharias asked, once they were out of earshot of the men.

“He did,” Erwin replied tightly, “but Shadis wants us here.”

Zacharias sniffed dismissively.

“We’re to stop and question any smaller ships if necessary,” Erwin continued, “but our orders are not to engage the enemy under any circumstances.” 

“Even if they fire on us?” the lieutenant asked skeptically. 

“I believe the commodore’s exact words were ‘no unnecessary heroics’.”

Zacharias snorted loudly, making his opinion of the commodore’s words quite clear. 

“The man’s lost his nerve.” 

“That’s enough, Lieutenant Zacharias,” Erwin replied sternly, though he couldn’t help but agree.

Three days later Erwin was sitting in his cabin, during the first dogwatch, writing one of the numerous and detailed reports demanded by Commodore Shadis, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come,” he called wearily, rubbing his hand over his eyes and leaving a smudge of ink on his cheek. 

The Marine sentry opened the door looking rather flustered. 

“Captain Smith, sir, I’m sorry, he insisted…”

Before he could finish, Ackerman pushed past the sentry into the cabin. Erwin raised his brows in surprise.

“It’s all right sergeant, you can stand down.” 

The sentry saluted and backed out of the cabin still looking somewhat aggrieved. 

Ackerman remained standing by the door as Erwin sat back in his chair and eyed him curiously.

“Ackerman, good to see you back on your feet,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with my fucking feet,” Ackerman grumbled. 

“Did Dr Zoe send you with a message?” 

“No.”

“No? Then what are you doing here?” 

“Escaping.” 

“Escaping? If you’re planning to desert, I don’t think it’s advisable to inform the captain in advance.”

Ackerman rolled his eyes. 

“Four-eyes and Isabel are driving me crazy.”

“Four-eyes?”

“Hanji, Dr Zoe, whatever.”

“Ah, I see.” Erwin replied, not without sympathy. Along with Mike Zacharias, the doctor was one of his few real friends, but even he had to admit that their exuberance could be wearing, particularly at close quarters. 

“What are you doing?” Ackerman asked, stepping towards the desk. 

“Reports,” Erwin replied. “For the commodore, he’s a stickler for despatches.”

“Haven’t you got a clerk for that shit?”

“Alas, my income does not extend that far.” Erwin answered ruefully. Then a thought occurred to him. “Can you write?” he asked.

“Of course I can fucking write.” Ackerman snapped. 

“Good. Then you can copy this.” 

Erwin handed Ackerman a rough draft of the morning’s shipping observations. 

Ackerman scanned the report silently, grey eyes dancing over the page, then he nodded, pulled a chair up to the corner of Erwin’s desk, and sat down. Erwin cleared a space for him as best he could, passed him an inkwell, quill and blotter, and he immediately got to work. 

The remainder of the watch passed in silence, interrupted only by the scratch of quill on paper. Though Erwin was grateful for the assistance, he found Ackerman’s presence something of a distraction, and try as he might, he could not prevent his gaze from straying repeatedly to the small man sitting just feet away.  
Ackerman for his part was a study of concentration; eyes focused on the page in front of him, dark hair falling forward over his face as he wrote. Occasionally he would pause and worry at his lower lip, biting at the soft flesh until it was red and wet, and the captain was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. When the watchbell rang to sound the end of the watch Ackerman sat back in his chair and handed the captain two copies of the report, transcribed in an a neat cursive script that would have put the most practiced Admiralty clerk to shame. 

Erwin leafed through the pages admiring the elegant handwriting, until he came to the final sheet. There, at the bottom of the page, was a flawless replica of his own signature, perfectly indistinguishable from his own hand. 

“Where did you learn to write like this?” he asked in surprise.

“Let’s just say it was a useful skill to have in my previous employment.” Ackerman answered evasively.

Suddenly it dawned on Erwin.

“Forgery. You forged your cargo manifests and ship’s papers!”

Ackerman tilted his head and shrugged. 

“It’s a damn sight easier that getting them from the excise men.” 

“And do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?” Erwin asked dryly. 

“Fucking filthy.” Ackerman replied, and without warning he got to his feet, leaned forward over the desk, and brushed his thumb over Erwin’s cheek. “You’ve got ink on your face.” 

Then before Erwin could gather his wits, he turned and left, leaving Erwin sitting with his mouth hanging open in surprise, and his cheek burning like a brand. 

Ackerman returned the following day, and the day after that. He turned up regular as clockwork every dogwatch when the captain sat down at his desk to work on the day’s despatches. He made no attempt to repeat his bold gesture and, though an awkward silence hung between them, he seemed content to sit at the corner of Erwin’s desk carefully transcribing the daily reports. Erwin quickly grew accustomed to his quiet presence, though he still struggled to prevent his gaze from sliding across to the other man. And sometimes, if he was foolish enough to let his guard down, he was seized with an overwhelming urge to touch; to reach out one hand, to run his thumb over scarred knuckles, to close the gap between them. But when Ackerman’s mouth tightened into a thin pained line as he rolled his shoulders or stretched his back, Erwin was powerless in the face of the cold wave of guilt that washed over him. Once, Ackerman looked up and caught him staring, brows furrowed in concern, he cocked his head in silent query, but Erwin just cleared his throat and looked away. 

By the end of the second week, when Hanji reported that Ackerman had recovered sufficiently from his injuries to resume his duties, it was with some reluctance that Erwin ordered him to return to the mizzen top. 

“Unless of course, you’d prefer I re-rate you captain’s clerk?” Erwin added as Ackerman handed him his final report. 

“Thought you couldn’t afford a fucking clerk.” Ackerman retorted fixing the captain with a flat stare. 

Ackerman returned to the mizzen top the following day and Erwin couldn’t help notice the genuine enthusiasm and respect with which the topmen welcomed him back. He had sent Church into the top to join Bosado and Schultz when Magnolia was re-rated surgeons mate, and though her duty now lay below, she spent much of her off-watch skylarking with the topmen, and it was not unusual to see her sitting casually in the crosstrees with Church, as Ackerman kept watch in the mizzen top. Below on the quarterdeck, aloof and alone, the captain of the _Maria_ watched their easy camaraderie with a tightness growing in his chest that he could not put a name to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chouans were French Royalists from the area around Brittany who fought against the French First Republic during the French Revolution. 
> 
> A scuttlebutt was a water butt on the deck of a ship, providing daily drinking water. Sailors would traditionally exchange gossip when they gathered at the scuttlebutt to drink, so scuttlebutt came to denote gossip and rumour.
> 
> Brest road is the wide bay and channel that leads in to the port of Brest, which was a strategically significant French naval base due to its proximity to England. The Goulet is the point at which the channel narrows. Period typical chart of Brest roads below, click for larger view.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://cartanciennes.free.fr/maps/brest_baie.jpg)  
> 


	9. Kiss of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unscheduled hiatus in this fic. Work has been kicking my ass. 
> 
> This chapter is heavily plagiarised from a fic of the same name that I wrote for my old Age of Sail fandom six years ago. Is that cheating?

Blockade duty proved to be a cold and tedious affair. After four weeks of maintaining the same station at the mouth of the Passage du Raz, watching the same ships come and go, both the officers and men of HMS _Maria_ were at the end of their tethers. Erwin exercised the men with regular gunnery and sail drill to prevent idleness and boredom turning to frustration and discontent, but it did little to relieve the tedium. Even the captain himself was showing signs of frustration with the endless weeks of inactivity. So it was with no little relief when he finally received word from Commodore Shadis that the frigate _Stohess_ would be relieving them and that they should proceed to patrol the coast north and south of Brest, in order to maintain a watch on the enemy’s signal stations and to stop and question any merchant vessels they encountered. 

Ackerman’s unique talents proved to be particularly useful in this latter endeavour. Although several of the _Maria_ ’s officers had a smattering of French, and Erwin himself was fluent, Ackerman was the only one with even a passing familiarity with the Breton language spoken by most of the men that crewed the local merchant ships and fishing boats they stopped and questioned. Something about his unorthodox manner also seemed to invite the confidence of the local sailors and it didn’t take long for Erwin to realise that Ackerman could get more useful information out of a quiet conversation in Breton with a crew member, than any of his officers could get from questioning the captain in halting French. Consequently Ackerman became a regular member of the boarding parties that were sent aboard the ships the _Maria_ stopped and questioned. 

“Do you think you can trust him?” Lieutenant Darlett asked one day as he stood on the quarterdeck beside the captain, watching the gig pull away from the _Maria_ towards a heavily laden snow, with Midshipman Nanaba and able seaman Ackerman in the stern sheets. 

“What do you mean?” the captain turned to his second lieutenant. 

“Ackerman, what makes you think you can trust him?” 

“Why wouldn’t I trust him?” Erwin replied, bemused. 

“He’s a smuggler.” Darlett answered flatly. “That type never changes. And he seems awfully friendly with those frogs don’t you think? He’s supposed to be gathering information, but who’s to say that he’s not passing information along to them? No one can understand a damn word he’s saying.”

Erwin frowned at the lieutenant. The idea had never occurred to him. Certainly Ackerman was crude and uncouth, his manner frequently bordering on insubordination. But it had never occurred to Erwin to question his loyalty, indeed the idea that Ackerman might be untrustworthy seemed outlandish and, had he been a gentlemen, the accusation would have been positively insulting. But of course he was not a gentleman, and Darlett was right; Ackerman was nothing but a common criminal turned able seaman, however that did nothing to prevent Erwin from knowing on some deep instinctual level that he could trust the man with his life. 

“I have no reason to question his loyalty.” Erwin replied flatly.

Darlett nodded, clearly unconvinced, before saluting stiffly and retreating to the lee side of the quarterdeck. 

The Marias’ relief at being relieved from blockade duty proved to be short lived. The fleet’s victualing ships were frequently delayed by the endless Channel gales and, when they did eventually reach the inshore squadron, they invariably lacked the supplies the ships required. Added to which, the _Maria_ was often absent on patrol duty and missed their meagre deliveries alltogether. After repeated victualing convoys failed to deliver sufficient fresh provisions, Erwin was horrified to see the spectre of scurvy stalking the lower decks. As a young lieutenant he had seen the ravages of the disease on postings to far flung foreign stations, but never in his worst nightmares had he expected to see men spitting their teeth out on the deck so close to England and within sight of land. 

Lack of fresh water only exacerbated their miseries. The fleet's water lighters were a remarkable innovation but one that still required perfecting. Their tanks leaked, the water spoiled and by the time the main Channel fleet’s ships of the line had been supplied, there was barely enough to fill the butts and casks of the inshore frigates, never mind ancillary ships such as the _Maria_. When appeals to Commodore Shadis fell on deaf ears Erwin took his complaint directly to the Admiral Lord Pixis, despatching terse missives requesting fresh provisions, lemon juice and water. However even the Admiral proved to be powerless in the face of Victualing Board intransigence and inefficiency, so Erwin did what he could to procure, from his own meagre savings, much needed supplies from the numerous fishing boats and chasse-marées that plied the Breton coast. Ackerman’s knowledge of the local language again proved to be invaluable and he was every bit as adept at bartering for supplies as he was with extracting information. And if, on occasion, a small cask of tea found it’s way on board along with the barrels of apples, sacks of bread and fresh provisions, then the captain was content to turn a blind eye. 

The supply of drinking water Erwin also took into his own hands. Almost every cove and inlet around the rocky Breton coast was laced with small fresh-water streams, and there were enough secluded deep-water bays where the _Maria_ could stand in close and put her boats ashore to refill the ship’s water casks. These shore parties also provided a valuable opportunity for reconnaissance and to monitor the enemy’s activity along the wilder reaches of the coast. 

It was a fine bright February morning, a rare Halcyon day in an endless winter of interminable gales and freezing easterly squalls, when the _Maria_ glided into the glittering bay under reefed topsails on a light morning breeze. The cove was situated on the remote western peninsula of Pointe du Raz; a small bay bounded north and south by sheer rocky cliffs, and to the east, behind the beach, rolling dunes that gave way to heath and moorland. A narrow stream cut a channel through the tussocky grass of the dunes before dissipating into a fan of silver rivulets on the golden sand.

“Bring her in Mr Henning,” the captain ordered the sailing master, before turning to the first lieutenant, “Mr Zacharias prepare to launch boats. Lieutenant Darlett will take the cutter and a party of seamen from the watch below to fill the water casks. I will accompany Corporal Ness with a detachment of Marines in the gig. I want to investigate that old signal tower on the cliff top to the north of the bay.” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” the tall lieutenant replied promptly, but he sniffed and hesitated, apparently reluctant to carry out the order.

“Something the matter Mike?” Erwin asked, dropping the formality of rank. 

“Are you sure that’s wise Erwin? Wouldn’t it be better to let me go? I know it’s the arse end of nowhere but you can’t be too careful. You never know what you might find up there.” 

“Don’t worry,” Erwin reassured is friend, “it’s just reconnaissance. The signal station looks like it’s abandoned. Any sign of trouble, and we’ll retreat to the boats. The Maria’s guns can covers us from the bay.” 

“Well if you’re sure…” Zacharias replied, though he didn’t sound sure at all. 

“We’ll be careful,” Erwin reassured him, placing one hand on his shoulder, “besides, I could do with stretching my legs.” 

An hour later the ship’s boats were pulling towards the beach, while the _Maria_ , under the command of Lieutenant Mike Zacharias, stood off shore, her guns elevated and trained on the cliff top signal station. From the stern sheets of the gig, Captain Smith watched the cutter pulling ahead through the breaking surf, with Ackerman and Church manning the forward oars. As the boats drew into the shallows, Lieutenant Darlett led the seamen up the beach to the stream that cut a deep swift-flowing channel through the dunes, while the captain and Corporal Ness led the Marines up a narrow track that wound precipitously up the face of the cliff towards the ruined signal station. 

They’d been climbing for a good half hour when the track petered out beneath a rocky overhang pocked with gulls’ nests. Startled by the unexpected intruders, the birds screamed their outrage, wheeling around the cliff face in alarm. A few early sea-pinks clung to the sheer rock wall, dotting the black rock with delicate splashes of colour. Corporal Ness ordered one of the more nimble Marines, a sure-footed lad from the islands of the far northwest, to scale the overhang and find the surest route up the cliff, while the rest waited below, passing around the water flask. Erwin removed his hat and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, the thin winter sun warm on his back. On the beach below he could see the seamen moving to and fro, tiny as beetles, rolling water barrels in front of them. And there by the waterline, where the tide broke onto the golden sand, the small but unmistakable figure of Levi Ackerman, standing guard by the boats. As Erwin watched, he turned and raised his head towards the cliff, lifting one arm to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight that sparkled off the water. Unbidden and unexpected, Erwin felt again the heat rising in his chest, the fleeting touch of rough calloused fingers ghosting against his cheek, the whisper of silk dark hair slipping through his fingers like water, the desperate overwhelming desire to reach out, to close the gap, to touch.

Below on the beach, one of the small figures crumpled to his knees and pitched forward onto the sand. Momentarily lost in thought, Erwin watched him fall with detached curiosity, until a split second later the report of a musket shot reverberated off the cliff face and the scene below burst into chaos. More gunshots and the men on the beach were scattering, abandoned water casks rolling and bumping across the sand, as the sailors ran towards the boats. A fountain of water erupted from the waves astern the cutter as the deafening report of a canon shot echoed from above. 

“Get back to the boats!” Erwin yelled even as the Marines were already scattering down the precipitous cliff path. “They’ve mounted a gun up there, retreat to the boats!”

Erwin could feel his feet going from under him, sliding on loose stone and slippery grass as they careered down the cliff face. On the beach below he could see Ackerman helping the seamen into the cutter and pushing it off even as the shot rained down from above sending plumes of spray leaping all around the boat. Behind him, Corporal Ness lost his footing and tumbled down the path, almost taking Erwin’s legs out from under him as he fell. Erwin grasped the man’s arm and pulled him to his feet but he yelled out in pain and clutched Erwin’s shoulder, one leg buckling underneath him. 

“My leg!” Ness gasped, “I…I think it’s broken.” 

“Come on soldier,” Erwin ground out through gritted teeth, getting his arm around Ness’ shoulder and supporting his weight as best he could on the narrow slippery path. The rest of the Marines had gained the beach and were running pell-mell for the gig. Ackerman was standing waist deep in the water holding firm to the sternpost, seemingly oblivious to the shot raining down all around him. With a deafening crash the _Maria_ answered fire, but her guns didn’t have the elevation and the canon shot thudded harmlessly into the cliff face showering fragments of rock and dirt over Erwin and the corporal as they struggled down the path.

Ackerman was gesticulating wildly now and Erwin could see him yelling, though the rising wind whipped the words from his mouth. They slid the last few yards down the path and landed in an untidy heap at the bottom of the cliff. Ness cried out in pain as he landed hard on top of the captain, knocking the breath from his lungs. Erwin lay stunned, gasping for breath, unable for a moment to figure out up from down and too winded to shift the injured man lying groaning on top of him. 

“ _ERWIN!_ ” The urgency in Ackerman’s voice, rising above the din of the canon fire and the waves roused Erwin from his stupor. “ _Fucking run!_ ”

With a super human effort Erwin got his legs underneath him and, hoisting the injured Ness onto this shoulders, ran down the beach in a hail of musket fire that sent the sand dancing around his feet. 

Ackerman was still yelling when he finally reached the water’s edge and ploughed into the surf, heaving Ness into the gig as the Marines reached out to haul their injured corporal over the side. 

“Took your fucking time,” Ackerman spat, but there was something like relief in his voice. 

“Sorry,” Erwin grinned, giddy with adrenaline. “Get in the boat, I’ll push off.” 

For a moment Ackerman looked like he might argue. 

“That’s an order.” 

Ackerman shook his head once, scattering water from the dark hair plastered to his forehead, then gripping the gunwale, hauled himself out of the water and swung over the side. 

The shot hit the gig square in the bows just as Ackerman dropped into the boat. The gig splintered into staves and Erwin just had time to utter a ferocious oath as the impact threw him off his feet and tumbled him into the rising waves. He came up spluttering and coughing to see red-jacketed bodies floundering in the water among the shattered remains of the gig, and Lieutenant Darlett and the seamen hauling survivors into the cutter. With panic rising in his chest, Erwin looked wildly around the scene of carnage and confusion, until a movement to his left caught his eye. A sleek dark head emerged from the waves and struck out towards him through the blood red surf. 

“Levi!” he called out just as a huge breaker crashed over him and something hit him hard on the back of his head. The waves closed over Erwin and with an odd detached feeling of surprise he felt the sand go from beneath his feet as the undertow pulled him out over the shelf of the beach. Erwin could feel himself sinking, his heavy woollen jacket pulling him down, the beach shelving steeply away beneath him; but he could still see the sunlight filtering down through the waves, silver blue and beautiful. _I must be drowning._ The thought flitted through his mind but was of little concern. _I hope men make it back to the ship. I hope Levi…_ Everything was quiet and blue and peaceful. There was no fear, no panic, just a strange drowsy contentment. 

The dancing silver blue light receded and dimmed. Fading to grey, to black, to nothing. 

~~

Fear and pain returned in a hellish rush of noise and confusion. Rough hands were tearing him from the peaceful oblivion of the sea’s blue embrace, hauling him over the gunwale and throwing him into the boat. All he was aware of was the cold and the din, the wind howling, voices yelling and an almighty deafening roar as the Maria, having tacked impossibly close in to the shore, discharged her full broadside, obliterating the cliff top battery.

~~

Erwin opened his eyes and found himself looking straight up at white clouds scudding across a brilliant blue sky. A fierce pain burned in his nose and throat and a crushing weight in his chest was smothering his breath. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to breathe, but the stubborn weight didn’t budge. Panic started to rise in his chest. 

A figure loomed over him, gazing down, bright sunlight reflecting off dirty spectacles. Hanji. Why were they looking down at him like that? The weight on his chest was growing heavier, the burning in his throat unendurable. He opened his mouth a second time, frantically gasping for air.

A second face swam into view, much closer, bending right over him, storm grey eyes and a curtain of wet dark hair dripping low over his face. Levi. Erwin tried to speak his name but the words complied no more than the air. The panic was a living thing now, beating madly against the weight in his chest. Dark spots edged with luminescence were floating before his eyes. He opened his mouth a third time and Levi kissed him. A long hard crushing kiss that breathed air into his lungs, lifting the weight in his chest and driving back the panic. Levi pulled away, then something hit him hard below his ribs and he vomited onto the deck. The floating spots started to merge and join, coalescing into blackness. The last thing Erwin saw before the darkness closed around him was Levi’s face hovering above him, grey eyes clouded with fear and concern. 

~~

Erwin came too lying in the cot in his own cabin with no recollection of how he got there. He tried to push himself up to sitting but his head throbbed dully and his whole body ached as though he’d been keel hauled. 

“Stay put,” a low familiar voice growled beside him, and a firm hand eased him back down onto the pillow. 

Wincing as he turned his head, he found Ackerman sitting on the sea chest beside his cot. He was deathly pale, with blood trickling down his cheek from a livid gash across is forehead. His jacket and waistcoat were missing and his wet shirt clung to his shoulders, seawater pooling around this feet. 

“What the hell happened?” Erwin groaned, gingerly fingering a lump the size of a gull’s egg at the back of his head. 

“You don’t remember?” Ackerman replied. “You were swamped when the shot hit the boat, some of the debris hit you on the head.” 

The memory of the disastrous expedition crashed over Erwin with the full weight of the breakers on the shore. 

“You went under, it seemed like an age,” Ackerman went on, “and when you came up you were floating, face down.” He paused and cleared his throat, voice low and thick when he continued. “Thought you were a fucking goner. I just hauled you back into the boat.” 

“Really?” Erwin squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to order his thoughts. His head was pounding and the dim light filtering in through the cabin skylight seemed achingly bright. “I don’t recall. All I remember is being under the water and my feet going from beneath me. I could see the light through the water. It was strange,” he shook his head and glanced up at Ackerman, “I didn’t feel afraid…”

Ackerman cleared his throat and looked away, his hands were shaking visibly, though whether from cold, fear or something else, Erwin couldn’t say.

“How many men?” Erwin asked the question he’d been dreading. “How many men did we loose?”

Ackerman shook his head slowly, wet hair dripping onto his already soaking shirt. “None. It’s a fucking miracle. The boat took a direct hit. Three of the Marines were badly injured but Hanji says they’ll live.” 

“And Ness?”

“Broken leg.”

“That’s it?” A blessed wave of relief washed over Erwin. 

“That’s it.” Ackerman replied with a shrug. 

“And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You look like you’ve been in the wars. You’re injured. What happened to your head?”

“This?” Levi touched one hand to his forehead and wrinkled his nose in disgust when his fingers came away sticky with congealing blood. “Tch, it’s nothing. You kicked me in the head when I was trying to get you into the damn boat.”

“Really? I’m sorry, I don’t...” 

“Hanji said to watch you for signs of concussion,” Ackerman cut in, clearly keen to change the subject, “something about dizziness and confusion. I don’t fucking know.”

“I must admit things are a little hazy.” Erwin conceded, scrubbing one hand over his face. “I don’t remember anything between the beach and coming too on the deck.” 

“You remember that?” Ackerman asked, a little too sharply. 

“Yes, though it’s all a bit confused, I remember seeing Hanji, and then you. But I couldn’t breath and then…” Erwin paused unsure whether to continue; unsure whether, in his confusion, he had imagined the whole unlikely scenario. “Well,” he continued sheepishly, “I have the strangest recollection that you, ah, that you kissed me.” 

“That was Hanji,” Ackerman replied, scowling and crossing his arms defensively across his chest. 

“Really?” Erwin tilted his head curiously, “I’m sure I remember it being you.”

“No...fuck. I mean Hanji told me to do it.” 

“Hanji told you to kiss me?” Erwin asked, incredulous and more than a little amused. “Are you sure it’s me who has the concussion?” 

“Called it the kiss of life or some shit.” Levi muttered, turning away, bright spots of colour flaming on his cheeks. 

“Kiss of life? Is that what you call it?” Erwin struggled to keep the amusement from his voice. “Then I am indebted to you. Clearly I owe you my thanks, and my life.”

“What for?” Ackerman asked, still scowling though the corner of his mouth tilted upwards. “Kissing you or saving your life?”

“Perhaps both Levi.” Erwin replied. And maybe later he would blame the shock, or the knock to the head, maybe later he’d wonder if he’d taken leave of his senses, but almost without thinking he reached out to wipe away a drop of blood that trickled down Levi’s cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

Ackerman stilled, eyes narrowing. Then he lifted his hand and closed his fingers around Erwin’s wrist, holding him in place, his grip so tight that Erwin could feel his bones grinding painfully together. And then very slowly, very deliberately, he turned his head, closed his eyes and brought his lips to Erwin’s palm. 

Erwin’s world stopped. The breath in his lungs, the movement of the ship, the ceaseless sounds of wind and water, all died away. Nothing else existed but the cool press of Levi’s lips against his palm, the warmth of his breath on his skin.

An age or an instant passed before Erwin found his voice.

“And what do you call that?” he asked softly.

Levi opened his eyes and held his gaze, something fierce and defiant in the depths of his grey eyes, but before he could answer the door of the outer day cabin banged open and he dropped Erwin’s wrist like he’d been scalded, jumping to his feet just as the doctor appeared in the door way.

“Erwin! You’re up!” Hanji announced, striding into the cabin. “How’re you feeling? Any signs of concussion Levi?” And then they were crowding into his space poking and prodding at him while keeping up a running commentary, seemingly oblivious to Ackerman standing awkwardly in the corner scowling furiously. Erwin submitted to the doctor’s attentions meekly, too bewildered to protest. 

Eventually satisfied that Erwin was not about to keel over, Hanji stood back and pushed their glasses up onto their forehead. 

“Remarkable, really quite remarkable…” they mused before addressing Erwin directly. “You’ve got Levi here to thank for your miraculous resurrection. If he hadn’t administered resuscitation we’d be stitching you up in your hammock by now.”

“If he hadn’t what?” Erwin asked, bemused by Hanji’s medical terminology. 

“Resuscitation by mouth,” Hanji replied. “It’s a new technique developed by the eminent Scottish physician Dr Hunter, I read a paper he delivered at the Royal Humane Society last year. I’ve never seen it in practice though, and I must admit I was sceptical, I didn’t actually believe it would work so effectively.” 

“Resuscitation by mouth?” Erwin repeated slowly. 

“Also known as the kiss of life!” Hanji waggled their eyebrows and grinned at Ackerman whose cheeks flushed scarlet again. 

“Fuck off,” he growled. 

“Oh don’t be such a prude,” Hanji chided. “Be thankful I didn’t have you administer the colonial method of resuscitation.”

“What’s that?” Erwin asked 

“Tobacco smoke administered to the patient’s rectum.” Hanji explained cheerfully.

“Right. Fuck this.” Ackerman snapped, shouldering past the doctor and beating a hasty retreat. Erwin head throbbed painfully as the cabin door slammed shut behind him.

“Was it something I said?” Hanji asked innocently. “You know,” they continued more soberly, “he insisted on staying. Wouldn’t even change into dry clothes or let me treat that cut on his head.” They turned and looked pointedly at Erwin. “He wouldn’t leave you.” 

“Oh…” Erwin frowned, “he said you told him to stay to watch for signs of concussion.” 

“Well I did, but only because he refused to leave, Dawkins could easily have kept watch, he’s been hovering around outside like an old mother hen.”

“Well I’ll be sure to thank Ackerman for his attention,” Erwin replied rather tightly. 

Hanji tilted their head and looked at him curiously. 

“Anyway,” they continued, suddenly brisk again. “Tell me everything you can remember about the resuscitation. I need to know what you experienced, for medical purposes of course. It’s a fascinating opportunity to…”

“I’m sorry Hanji I really don’t remember anything at all.” 

“Oh well,” the doctor pouted in disappointment, “in that case I’ll leave you to rest up. Dawkins will keep an eye on you now your little shadow has disappeared. Zacharias has been insisting he needs to see you too but I’ve told him you’re not to be disturbed until morning watch tomorrow.”

“Thank you Hanji,” Erwin lay back against the pillow, suddenly exhausted, the pain in his head making spots jump and flare in front of his eyes. “I think I could do with a rest.”

Later Erwin lay in the quiet of his cabin, listening to the murmur of the waves under the keel of the ship and the patter of the men’s feet on the deck above. He had lied. Of course he had lied. He remembered everything; the look of fear in Levi’s grey eyes as he bent over him, the rough press of his cool lips, the taste of salt, the warm breath that filled his lungs, breathing life back into his body. The kiss, and the man he owed his life to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trubuhovich, R.V., (2006) , "History of mouth-to-mouth rescue breathing. Part 2: the 18th century.", Department of Critical Care Medicine, Auckland City Hospital, Auckland, New Zealand. <http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16749887>
>
>>   
>  The first humane society was founded in Amsterdam in 1767 and initially promoted expired air ventilation (EAV) by the mouth-to-mouth method. Other humane societies were soon established throughout Europe, especially in maritime cities with frequent drownings. The founding of London's humane society in 1774, initially known as "The Institute," was followed by earnest efforts to promote mouth-to-mouth EAV in England, and soon after in Scotland, but not until the 1780s in North America. Disenchantment with the mouth-to-mouth method as less desirable (for various reasons) led to decline in its general use. In 1782, what later became The Royal Humane Society in London changed its expressed preference for artificial ventilation by mouth-to-mouth to manual artificial ventilation using inflating bellows, although mouth-to-mouth was a method of resuscitation which could be attempted by any rescuer. The need to apply artificial ventilation immediately was not really recognised before John Hunter's recommendation to London's Humane Society in 1776.    
> 
> 
>   
> History of CPR, UKDivers.net, <http://www.ukdivers.net/history/cpr.htm>
>
>>   
>  In the 1700's a new method of resuscitation was used. This "new" procedure involved blowing tobacco smoke into the victim's rectum. According to the literature, smoke was first blown into an animal bladder, then into the victim's rectum. It was used successfully by North American Indians and American colonists an introduced in England in 1767. This practice was abandoned in 1811 after research by Benjamin Brodie when he demonstrated that four ounces of tobacco would kill a dog and one ounce would kill a cat.   
> 
> 
>   
> " _...a sure-footed lad from the islands of the far northwest..._ " - The men of the Outer Hebrides were renowned sailors who were also noted for their ability to climb, as many learned to scale the sea cliffs around the islands to collect fledgling seabirds and eggs to supplement their communities' diets.
> 
>   
>   
> 


	10. Hold Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apology for lifting large chunks of the dialogue from the ACWNR manga. See if you can spot it :}

“Sail ho to starboard!” the lookout called from the crosstrees of the main mast, high above the _Maria_ ’s deck. 

“What ship?” Lieutenant Zacharias called back, his resounding voice carrying easily to the masthead. 

On the weather side of the quarterdeck Captain Smith winced, the sound reverberating inside his head like the report of a canon. It was three days since the disastrous shore expedition, three days since Levi Ackerman had saved his life with a crushing kiss that breathed life back into his body and lit a spark deep in his chest. Although Erwin’s concussion had receded to a dull ache, the fierce pain the man had ignited had only intensified. The memory of warm lips still burned against his skin, lingered in the palm of his hand, and Erwin clenched his fist tightly, though whether to hold on to the sensation or to smother the spark it had kindled, he could not say. 

“It’s the Berg cutter! Signaling permission to come aboard with despatches, sir!” 

The reply from the masthead roused Erwin from his thoughts and he squared his shoulders and nodded to the First Lieutenant. 

“Permission granted.” 

A half hour later Lieutenant Peaure of the _Berg_ clambered aboard the _Maria_ and presented the captain with despatches bearing Admiral Lord Pixis’s ornate seal; an anchor surmounted by intertwined roses. Erwin opened the letter on the quarterdeck and, after scanning it briefly, read aloud to his First Lieutenant. 

“Admiral Lord Pixis requests and requires Captain Erwin Smith of His Majesty’s Ship the _Maria_ to come aboard the flagship _Sina_ on the 12th inst. at the forenoon watch. I remain as always, etc. etc. That’s tomorrow morning, Mr Zacharias, set a course for Ushant without delay.” 

“Aye, aye Captain,” Zacharias saluted and passed the destination to the helmsman, before bellowing the order to make all sail. Erwin’s head throbbed painfully and he had to place a steadying hand on the weather rail as he watched the hands take up the braces, and the familiar small figure of the captain of the mizzen top lead his men out along the yard to release the sail. The topmen worked quickly, balancing easily on the precarious footropes, as the sail dropped and billowed into the wind. On the quarterdeck below, the captain clenched his fist tighter. 

When the _Maria_ arrived off Ushant to rendezvous with the Sina the following day, Erwin was surprised to find the frigate _Stohess_ anchored among the great ships-of-the-line of the Channel Fleet. And his surprise turned to curiosity when he entered the great cabin and found Commodore Shadis seated at the grand mahogany table alongside Admiral Lord Pixis and twelve captains of the fleet, some of whom he recognised, though several faces were unfamiliar.

“Ah Smith!” The Admiral greeted him jovially, “take a seat, take a seat.”

Erwin saluted smartly and sat down beside Shadis who acknowledged him with a stiff nod. Spread out on the table, among an array of bottles and decanters, were several charts of the approaches to Brest Roads, marked with figures and annotations.

“Now we’re all assembled,” Admiral Pixis began, “Their Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty have decreed that the French must not be allowed to muster their fleet in Brest unchecked.” 

A murmur of approval ran round the table and a florid red-faced captain raised his glass in an enthusiastic toast. 

“Health to their Lordships and confusion to the French!” 

“Their Lordships!” several of the party replied as they drained their glasses. To Erwin’s right Commodore Shadis took a small sip from his glass and frowned. Clearly the Admiral’s brandy had already been flowing for some time before Erwin’s arrival.

“In their wisdom,” Pixis continued, “their Lordships have decided that the best way to counter this threat is to send in a fleet of fire ships and mortar vessels.”

The convivial atmosphere around the table died away and one of the older captains sitting opposite Erwin scoffed dismissively. 

“And how will these vessels get into the harbor? The inner road is protected by a floating chain boom,” he said, tapping the chart in front of him with his finger. 

“Indeed,” Pixis replied, “which is why the Admiralty have sent three mortar vessels with reinforced hulls to break the boom. Once the chain boom has been broken, the fire ships will be towed into the harbor and set adrift among the fleet, while the mortars launch incendiaries at the shore batteries.”

“Are these bomb vessels really going to be effective, sir?” Shadis asked. “In my experience their range is short and their accuracy unpredictable at the best of times.”

“I confess I would have recommended a more, shall we say, conventional approach,” Pixis nodded, “but Lord Zackley is a great admirer of Mr Congreve and his rockets.”

“Won’t it take some time to assemble the fire ships and get the mortar vessels in position?” A tall, thickset captain at the end of the table asked. “What’s to stop the French from sending a squadron of their heavy frigates out to counter the threat?” 

“It’s a risk, I admit, and one I pointed out to Lord Zackley, but that’s were Captain Smith comes in.”

“Me sir?” Erwin only just managed to conceal his surprise. 

“Yes Smith, your job will be to cause a diversion. You see this here in the outer road?” Pixis pointed to a promontory on one of the charts. “This is where the French corvette _Titan_ is moored under shore batteries. The _Maria_ ’s boats will go in and cut out the corvette, drawing the French’s attention away from the boom, thus enabling the fire ships to be towed into position.”

Erwin’s heart sank. Causing a diversion would not be difficult, but he knew full well that the _Maria_ stood little chance of carrying a fully crewed vessel the size of a corvette in a straight fight. 

“Commodore Shadis has commended you for your diligence and zeal and personally recommended you for the mission,” the Admiral continued. “Think you’re up to it man?”

“Aye sir, thank you sir.” Erwin replied evenly. Beside him Commodore Shadis coughed and turned away. 

As the captain’s barge pulled back across the choppy waters to the _Maria_ , Erwin sat in the stern sheets and contemplated his orders. Throughout his career at sea, he had never been afraid to take risks, however he was far from reckless and balanced every gamble against the lives of his men. Each and every death under Erwin’s command weighed heavily on his conscience, and he did everything in his power to minimize casualties. The Admiralty’s plan was risky at best, hopeless at worst, yet to refuse a direct order, or to question the Admiral’s command, would be insubordination of the highest order. At the very least he would be court martialled, cashiered and dismissed the service in disgrace. Erwin had no choice but to follow orders, however he had no intention of allowing his men to become canon fodder for a hazardous and ill-conceived plan. 

“Mr Zacharias,” Erwin said, as he came aboard the _Maria_ , “tell the officers to assemble in my cabin at the first dog watch.” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” Zacharias replied with a salute, before adding under his breath “What’s going on Erwin? Your face is like thunder.” 

“The Admiralty plan to attack the Brest Fleet with fire ships and they want us to create a diversion.” 

“A diversion?” 

“We’re to cut out a corvette moored under the shore batteries at Pointe du Portzic.”

“A corvette?” Zacharias shook his head “That’s a tall order.” 

“It is Mike, but I think we can shorten the odds. I’m going below, send Ackerman down to my cabin immediately.” 

Erwin only just had time to clear his desk and lay out the chart of Brest Roads before a knock at the cabin door heralded the arrival of the captain of the mizzen top. Erwin’s breath caught in his throat as Ackerman stepped into the cabin and he was forcefully reminded of the last time he had been in such close quarters with the man. Behind his back, he clenched his fist tighter, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to banish the memory of warm, rough lips brushing against his palm. Ackerman, for his part, seemed equally ill at ease as he saluted awkwardly, the gesture incongruously formal in the close confines of the cabin. 

“Captain Smith.”

Erwin felt the prickle of sweat beneath his collar and he had to resist the urge to tug at his stock. 

“Ah yes, Ackerman,” he began, “we have a mission from the Admiralty and our success or failure may depend on your alacrity.” 

Ackerman cocked his head to the side and listened silently as Erwin outlined the Admiralty’s plan. 

“It’s suicide,” he said when Erwin finished speaking. “They want us to go in there and cut out a fully armed corvette, moored under shore batteries? You know the odds of us carrying that ship are fucked?”

“I believe the Admiralty would prefer to see it as a tactical diversion,” Erwin smiled mirthlessly, “but yes, that’s the basic plan.”

“Who’s going to lead the boats? Zacharias? Darlett? You’ve got a better chance with Zacharias. Darlett hasn’t got the balls.”

“I will.” Erwin replied evenly.

“You?” Ackerman’s thin brows raised in surprise. “Isn’t that what you’ve got lieutenants for? I thought the captain was supposed to stay with his ship?” 

“Not this time,” Erwin shook his head. “Lieutenant Zacharias will take command of the Maria and I will lead the boarding party. I have no intention of allowing this be a suicide mission. We’re going to carry that ship.” 

Levi folded his arms over his chest, frowning at the chart thoughtfully. 

“We’ll go in under cover of darkness,” Erwin explained, “with the element of surprise we stand a chance of seizing the ship before the crew can raise the alarm and the shore batteries open fire. But it will all depend on the topmen. As soon as we board, you must go aloft and loose the sails. Even if we carry the ship by force, we won’t stand a chance unless we can get her underway and out of range of those guns.” Erwin paused for a moment. “I want you to lead the topmen, so I’m going to re-rate you.” 

Ackerman looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“Re-rate me? Re-rate me as what?”

“Midshipman.” 

Ackerman stared at the captain, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open. 

“If the mission is a success,” Erwin continued, “this could be your first step to a commission and…” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Stop.” Ackerman interrupted, suddenly finding his voice. “Commissioned? Me? Have you taken leave of your senses? That knock to the head must have done more damage than Hanji thought. You think the Admiralty will let me set foot on the quarterdeck?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Erwin replied reasonably, stepping around from behind his desk, towards the smaller man. “I had very little interest when I joined the service.”

“Ha,” Ackerman snorted, “you are a gentleman, Captain Smith. And what the fuck am I? A thug? A criminal? A fucking whoreson?”

“I don’t care what you are. You’re a born seaman. You’re brave and capable and the men respect you. You’re more fit for command than many an officer I’ve served with.” 

“Since when did that ever come into it?” Ackerman spat, crossing his arms defensively and turning away. 

“Levi….” Erwin reached out tentatively and placed one hand on his shoulder, turning him around, “I see your worth. I see what you’re capable of. Your talent is undeniable and your skill surpasses the ability of many a commissioned officer. You’ve already been a real asset to the service.” 

“An asset to the service?” Ackerman repeated scornfully, scowling up at him, his grey eyes dark as a gathering storm. 

“To the service…” Erwin hesitated, “and to me.” 

“Is that what I am? An asset?” 

The contemptuous curl of Ackerman’s mouth made something twist in Erwin’s chest. 

“No, no, you’re more than that, so much more than that,” he replied earnestly, tightening his grip on the man’s shoulder. “And that’s why I want to see you commissioned.” 

Levi sighed and shrugged. Erwin let his hand fall away reluctantly. 

“I don’t suppose I’m in any position to refuse, am I?” 

“No, I don’t suppose you are, but I’d rather promote you with your consent than without.” 

“Well in that case I guess I consent…”

“Good.” Erwin smiled, reaching for the muster book, before a thought occurred to him. “I presume you wouldn’t thank me for a berth with the other midshipmen?”

“Fucking animals,” Ackerman grumbled, “I’d sooner desert.”

“Well in that case, you can have the cabin next to the carpenter. Oh and you’ll need a uniform, speak to the purser, and Midshipman Nanaba, they might have an old jacket you can borrow.” 

Ackerman nodded, apparently unsure what else to say.

“Very good then Mister Midshipman Ackerman. That will be all. Report back here at the first dogwatch. I’ll be briefing the officers on the mission.” 

“Aye, aye, captain.” Ackerman replied, his formal salute spoiled by the flush of colour that spread to the tips of his ears. 

As the door closed, the captain opened the muster and turned to the page that bore Ackerman’s name and there, in the column marked Qualities, below Cpt Mzzn Top, he wrote the date and Mid. 

As the bell sounded the first dogwatch, the officers of HMS _Maria_ gathered around the small table in the captain’s cramped day cabin. Lieutenants Zacharias and Darlett, Midshipman Nanaba, Mr Henning the sailing master, Captain Gelgar of the Marines, and seated to the captain’s right, the newly minted Midshipman Ackerman.

“Gentleman,” the captain began, but before he could continue, Lieutenant Darlett interrupted.

“Excuse me captain Smith? With all due respect sir, is it really appropriate for one of the men to be present?”

“I presume you’re referring to Mister Ackerman?” Erwin replied mildly. 

“Well, yes, sir.” 

“Mister Midshipman Ackerman is here on my orders.” Erwin stressed the title Ackerman’s rank now afforded him. 

“Midshipman?” Darlett replied incredulously. “This is a disgrace! We are officers of His Majesty’s Royal Navy who have all undergone years of official training, and you’re suggesting that we let a common criminal into our ranks? There’s no telling how he may put our lives in danger.”

“Lieutenant Darlett,” Erwin’s voice had taken on that icy tone that would brook no argument. “I understand what you’re saying. Mr Ackerman may not know the first thing about being a sea officer, however from this moment on we must expect him to assume this role. Only he has the skill we need to lead this expedition to success.”

“I just pray that this expedition doesn’t become his biggest crime.” Darlett muttered. 

“That’s enough lieutenant!” the captain snapped. “You are dangerous close to insubordination sir. I’ll hear no more of this.” 

“Aye captain,” Darlett replied contritely, suddenly aware of just how close to the wind he’d been sailing. 

Throughout Darlett’s outburst Ackerman sat silent and impassive at the captain’s right hand, his expression revealing not a flicker of emotion. 

Erwin wasted no time in outlining the Admiralty’s plan. 

“The _Titan_ corvette is anchored here,” he pointed to the rounded promontory of Pointe du Portzic on the chart spread out in the centre of the table. “She is well armed and fully crewed. There are shore batteries here and here, each mounting four 36 pounders. The _Titan_ may be tethered to the shore with cables and there may be guard boats patrolling the outer road. The anchorage is too shallow for the _Maria_ to come in close enough to bring her guns to bear on the shore batteries, so our success will depend on stealth and surprise. We will go in silently in the boats under cover of night, and attack suddenly and together. The darkness will be our ally.”

“Lieutenant Darlett will take the longboat, Midshipman Nanaba the jolly boat, Midshipman Ackerman the gig, I will lead in the pinnace. Mr Zacharias will remain on board and take command of the ship. I will board at the starboard quarter, cut the stern anchor cable and proceed to the quarterdeck. Mr Darlett, you will lead Captain Gelgar and the Marines over the starboard bow and attend to the cables there. Midshipman Nanaba and Midshipman Ackerman, you will board over the larboard quarter. Nanaba, your party will batten down the hatches. If we can secure the watch below, that will tip the odds in our favour. Mr Ackerman and the topmen will go aloft immediately on boarding to loose the sails. Speed is of the essence, we need to get that ship underway before the alarm is raised and the batteries open fire.” 

“We launch the attack two nights hence. That gives us forty-eight hours to prepare for the expedition. You will each choose your own men. Pick only those that you trust with your life. Mr Henning will bring the Maria as close into the anchorage as possible without alerting the French, and we will launch the boats at eight bells first watch. 

“Any questions gentlemen?”

“Sir?” Midshipman Nanaba was the first to speak up, “do you really think we can carry that ship?” 

“I do.” The captain replied. “The odds are weighted heavily against us, but I trust every last one of you to do your duty, and do it well. Our hope rests on your courage and on the alacrity of Mr Ackerman and our topmen.” Erwin looked up and met the gaze of every man seated around the table, his eyes finally falling on the small man seated beside him. “I trust in your loyalty, your skill and your courage.” 

The next two days passed in a blur of anticipation and activity as the Marias prepared for the expedition. Boarding pikes were taken down from the racks around the mast, wrapped in canvas and stowed in the bottom of the boats, along with grapnels and cable. The grindstone was brought up on deck and the seamen patiently lined up to sharpen boarding axes and cutlasses. The Marine sergeant checked powder, shot and flints of the muskets and pistols and tied cloth around the locks to keep them dry. Oars were bound carefully in sailcloth and smeared with grease to prevent them rattling in the rowlocks.

The officers picked their boat crews, and every man was assigned their orders. Erwin saw to it that both officers and men were briefed and briefed again. From the _Maria_ ’s complement of topmen, Ackerman picked able seamen Bozado, Shultz, and Jinn who together with Church made up his boarding party. Erwin couldn’t fault his choice, they were all experienced and reliable topmen, however he was concerned to see Magnolia kicking their heels on deck as Ackerman went over the orders with his crew for what must have been the dozenth time.

“Lieutenant Zacharias, tell Mister Ackerman and Magnolia I want to see them on the quarterdeck at the end of the watch.” 

“Aye, aye sir,” Zacharias replied, his gaze drifting over to the two small figures who were now standing with Church by the weather rail aft of the fore mast. 

When Ackerman and Magnolia presented themselves on the quarterdeck a half hour later the captain had to supress a small smile as they saluted in unison. Instead of his usual black waistcoat and trowsers, Ackerman was wearing an ancient midshipman’s jacket and a pair of patched white breeches. The blue jacket fitted him passably well, though the sleeves hung long in the arm, covering his hands to the knuckle, and the breeches were worn thin and a little tight around the seems, the overall effect was striking however. 

“Mr Ackerman, I take it your men are prepared for the expedition?” 

“Aye sir.”

“Good.” Erwin nodded. “Report to my cabin at six bells first watch, there are some final matters I wish to discuss.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Ackerman replied, though he tilted his head imperceptibly in query. 

“And Magnolia, I trust I do not have to remind you that your duty remains below with Dr Zoe?”

“Aye sir,” Magnolia replied, though Erwin could hear the reluctance in her tone.

“We may be in need of your services before this night is out. See to it that you are on hand to assist Dr Zoe when we return.” 

Magnolia’s gaze flickered briefly to Ackerman, before she answered. 

“Aye, aye, captain.” 

As night fell pitch and dark, Erwin gave a small prayer of thanks for the thick blanket of heavy cloud that obscured the thin sliver of the new moon. The wind had picked up, a stiff breeze blowing off shore, whipping the sea into choppy crests, and heavy rain squalls came hammering down in sheets. Conditions could hardly have been more favourable to conceal their approach as the _Maria_ doused her deck lights and Henning the sailing master set a course for Pointe du Portzic. 

At five bells first watch the captain went below to change into and old undress jacket and hessian boots. He was strapping a heavy boarding cutlass to his belt in place of his usual sword when there was a tap at the door and the Marine sentry ushered Ackerman inside. He had changed back into his black trowsers, replaced the midshipman’s coat with a dark green hooded jacket, and in place of his white cravat a black neck cloth. He was wearing neither shoes nor boots, and though Erwin knew he went barefoot for better purchase in the rigging, there was something vulnerable in the nakedness of those small tan feet against the dark wood of the deck that made Erwin’s chest tighten. 

“Captain Smith, sir.” 

The tension was clear in Ackerman’s voice. In any other man Erwin would have put it down to fear of the impending expedition, but he knew Ackerman better than that, and he knew Ackerman could see straight through him. Still, rank and protocol demanded he maintain a veneer of professionalism at all costs. 

“Mr Ackerman, your men are prepared? You all know the drill?”

Ackerman had no such qualms about protocol. He crossed his arms over this chest and eyed Erwin steadily under narrow brows, before answering. 

“Of course they do. What’s this shit about? Are you asking if you can trust me?”

Erwin huffed a short laugh and shook his head. 

“No Levi, I know I can trust you.” 

Levi cocked his head to one side. 

“Then why am I here?” 

“Because,” Erwin replied, “I wanted to give you this.” 

He pulled open the drawer of his desk, lifted out a short blade in a shabby leather scabbard and handed it to Ackerman. 

“What’s this?” he asked taking the blade from Erwin’s hand.

“It’s my old midshipman’s dirk,” Erwin replied, “I want you to have it.” 

Levi slid the blade from its sheath and weighed it in his right hand frowning thoughtfully. 

The scabbard was scuffed and faded, marked by a deep groove where it had once turned a blow that would surely have cost the young Midshipman Smith the use of his leg. And though the blade was worn and notched, it had maintained its edge and Erwin had made sure it was once again honed to lethal perfection. It was a plain utilitarian blade, the handle yellow bone and plain brass instead of the ivory and scrolls favoured by the wealthier young gentlemen, but Erwin had cherished that dirk. He still remembered his father presenting him with it the day before he left for sea. The way his father’s eyes shone with pride as he stood in front of the mirror decked out in his new uniform, the stiff woollen collar of his midshipman’s jacket with its two white patches scratching at his neck. Erwin had long outgrown the dirk and when he had dug it out of his sea chest the previous day to clean and sharpen it, it had felt like a child’s toy in his hand. In Ackerman’s grip it looked deadly. 

“Why do you want me to have it?” Ackerman looked up from the blade, meeting Erwin’s gaze. 

“Because,” Erwin replied, “it stood me in good stead, and I hope it will do the same for you.” 

Without warning, Levi flipped the blade into the air, caught it back handed and brought it down onto the surface of Erwin’s desk where it stuck fast. 

“It’s a good blade,” he said, pulling it free. 

“Then it’s yours. Keep it.” 

Levi nodded, running his fingers once over the initials engraved on the pommel of the dirk, before sheathing the blade and looking up. 

“Will that be all?” 

Erwin cleared his throat.

“Yes, Mr Ackerman, that will be all.” 

His hand was already on the door handle when Erwin stopped him. 

“Levi…” he started, his throat tightening around the words. “Stay alive.” 

Levi held his gaze before swallowing and running his tongue over his lower lip.

“You too.” 

And then he turned and left on silent feet. 

At eight bells middle watch the _Maria_ took up station in the darkness off the Pointe du Portzic. The boats were hoisted out and the boarding party assembled in divisions on deck. Both officers and men were dressed in any dark coloured clothing they could beg or borrow, a single strip of white cloth tied around their upper right arms to mark friend from foe. Some of the seamen had blacked their faces with soot from the galley to add to the concealment. On the pitch black deck they were barely distinguishable one from the other. 

As the muffled watch bell sounded, the captain gave the command, “Boat crews away,” and led his men over the side into the boats waiting below with banked oars. 

As Erwin took his seat in the stern sheets of the pinnace, he looked up at the _Maria_ just in time to see the small unmistakable figure of Levi Ackerman swinging gracefully over the side and dropping into the gig. Then the boats pulled away silently into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Interest" in the context of the Royal Navy during this period roughly equates to influence, patronage or connections. Unlike the Army, it was impossible to buy a commission in the RN, but it was influence that ensured that officers were appointed to the best ships with the most promising missions. The vast majority of commissioned officers were gentlemen, though it was not impossible for an exceptionally brave or gifted common seaman to be promoted to commissioned rank. 
> 
> The fireship expedition outlined by Admiral Pixis is loosely based on the [Battle of the Basque Roads](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Basque_Roads).


	11. Titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Messrs Forrester, O'Brian and Isayama.

It was a long slow pull out into the darkness against a head wind and a rising sea, but as Erwin sat huddled in the stern sheets, he knew that the off-shore wind would be in their favour later, as long as Ackerman and the topmen could get aloft to loose the _Titan_ ’s sails. On through the pitch black the _Maria_ ’s boats crawled, silent but for an occasional soft splash as an oarsman caught a crab, followed by a muffled hiss from one of the officers to mind the oars. The rain came hammering down in sheets and the spray flying over the bows of the boats drenched them to the skin and chilled them to the bone. 

Erwin kept his gaze fixed ahead, all his senses tense and alert, looking out for the presence of guard boats in the outer road. Occasionally he turned his head to the other three boats following in the gig’s wake, dimly visible through the night and the rain; Darlett in the longboat, Nanaba in the jolly boat and, bringing up the rear, Ackerman in the gig, barely a smudge in the darkness. 

The rain streamed off the brim of Erwin’s hat, and with the salt spray flying in his face, every breath he took was more water than air, but his concentration never wavered. And there, at last, when the men were straining at the oars, heads bowed and backs bent, through the sheeting rain the glimmer of shore lights could be seen in the distance, and dead ahead, the faint mast-head lights of the _Titan_ corvette. 

“Steady now.” Erwin whispered the command into the darkness. 

They were well into the Brest road now, easily within range of the shore batteries, but the night and the rain concealed their passage and to Erwin’s unspeakable relief there was no sign of guard boats patrolling the anchorage. 

On over the choppy oil-dark sea the boats crawled, closer and closer to the prize, the outline of the corvette resolving slowly out of the darkness, bigger that Erwin had imagined. As the Marias pulled silently towards their prize, two dim shapes, Ackerman and Nanaba’s boats, peeled off into the night, to slip unseen under the bow of the ship to board from the landward side of the vessel. 

They were close now, close enough to hear the muffled voices of the watch, huddled against the side of the ship, seeking what little shelter the bulwarks afforded against the filthy weather. Not for the first time that night, Erwin said a silent prayer of thanks for the inclement weather of this Atlantic coast. 

The sheer sides of the _Titan_ rose above the boats, the black mouths of the corvette’s guns looming ominously over their heads. Oblivious to the threat below, one of the watch swore volubly and another man laughed. Without command, the _Maria_ ’s oarsmen banked their oars and the boats slid up against the black hull and hooked onto the chains. Taking a deep breath, Erwin stood up in the stern of the pinnace, placed one foot on the gunwale and leapt for the chains. His hands made contact with the slippery wood of the narrow platform that ran around the hull of the ship and, with no little effort, he pulled himself up using the shrouds for purchase. Behind him, the Marias crept silently up the side of the corvette, like rats in the darkness.

Erwin’s heart was hammering in his throat as he pulled himself upwards hand over hand, but he felt oddly calm, as he often did in those heart-stopping moments before launching into battle, all his senses heightened and alert. He already had one hand on the starboard rail of the corvette when there was a harsh cry of alarm from aft and the _Titan_ suddenly sprang into life. 

“Marias advance!” Erwin roared over the clanging of the watch bell, as he launched himself over the rail with astonishing agility, drawing his cutlass before his feet even hit the deck. 

From the boats below, a dozen grapnels were flung upwards to hook into the starboard mainchains, and with an enormous yell the seamen swarmed up over the sides of the _Titan_. The fearsome yelling of the Marias roused the corvette’s sleeping crew into confusion and bewilderment. The watch on deck rushed to the starboard side to beat back the intruders, just as Erwin had calculated, leaving the starboard side undefended so Ackerman and Nanaba’s men could board unimpeded. If Erwin’s plan worked as intended, Ackerman and the topmen should already be aloft before the rest of the Marias boarded, and Nanaba’s party would have a fighting chance of battening down the hatches to contain the watch below. 

In vain the _Titan_ ’s crew tried to fend off the unexpected attackers, but wherever one man fell back, another took his place. 

“Come on!” Erwin bellowed, rushing forward, striking out furiously to either side. 

A rapid volley of musket fire tore through the darkness for’ard telling Erwin that Darlett and the Marines had boarded over the bows. The French gave way from abaft the foremast, backing into the waist pursued by Darlett’s men. The flash of a pistol shot illuminated the scene on deck, blinding Erwin momentarily, and he narrowly avoided a vicious blow from a boarding axe. 

The fighting was hard now; a confused mass of struggling men, surging backwards and forwards, cursing and yelling, hacking left and right. The volleys of musket fire and crack of pistol shots, pierced by the screams of the injured and dying.

Erwin forced his way aft through the seething mass, feet slipping on the blood slick deck, fighting his way towards the quarterdeck. A French sailor blocked his way, sabre raised. Erwin brought his cutlass down and their swords clashed high. With an almighty effort he tuned the blow aside just as a pikeman lunged at him from the left, tearing through his jacket and grazing a long gash along his ribs. With a fearsome yell Erwin swung his cutlass in a lethal arc and brought it down on the pikeman’s shoulder cleaving clean through to the breastbone. The man crumpled to the deck as Erwin wrenched his blade free and leapt towards the quarterdeck companion. Another man lunged at him from the top of the companion, Erwin feinted to the right and the blow went wide. Using the man’s own momentum Erwin grasped him by the collar and pitched him over the rail. He gave a startled cry before landing on the deck below in a twisted heap.

As Erwin gained the quarterdeck, he was relieved to find two of the Marias already hacking at the aft anchor cable with boarding axes, and a third locked in a deadly struggle with the man at the wheel. Erwin pulled out his pistol, firing at point blank range, and the helmsman crumpled to the deck. 

“Take the helm and prepare to put her about,” Erwin ordered. 

“Aye, aye, captain sir!” the seaman replied wildly, his eyes alight with the madness of battle. 

Only then did Erwin pause for a moment to catch his breath and cast his gaze aloft where he was relieved to see that both the mizzen and mainsails had dropped in the centre, closest to the masts. Good, Ackerman and his men were aloft. Suddenly the ship lurched as the aft anchor cable parted with a resounding crack and Erwin had to grasp onto the backstay to keep his footing. As he steadied himself and looked aloft again along the length of the mizzen yard, seeking a glimpse of that familiar agile figure, he noticed to his utmost dismay that there were no footropes on the outer end of the yardarm. The cautious French having removed them, perhaps, to prevent just such an attempt to seize the ship. Unless the gaskets could be cast off and the sail loosed along the length of the yard, all would be lost. The corvette would never gather enough steerage way to get out beyond the range of those shore batteries, and with the sounds of battle ringing across the anchorage above the wind and a rain, it was only a matter of time before they opened fire with lethal consequences. But before Erwin could even begin to spur his mind to think of an alternative plan, there, to his horror and disbelief, he saw that small familiar figure standing upright in the centre of the yard, balanced like a tightrope walker forty feet above the deck. The battle raged on forgotten as Erwin watched with his heart in his mouth as Ackerman ran out along the length of the yard with impossible speed and agility. When he reached the extreme end of the yardarm, he dropped down and straddled the yard, reaching over, apparently oblivious to the dizzying fall below, to loose the sail. The canvas dropped free and in an instant Ackerman was back on his feet and racing back along the yard. 

“Sheet that sail home!” Erwin bellowed to any Maria that might hear him, but before he could order the helmsman to put the wheel over, the breath left his throat and his feet went from under him, as he was dragged backwards, a chain around his throat. Erwin dropped his sword as his knees hit the deck and he grasped desperately at the chain tightening around his windpipe, choking the breath and the life out of him. He tried to swing one arm behind him to strike the man holding the chain but there was no strength in the blow. The man tugged hard, jerking Erwin’s head back, spots of light flaring before his eyes, the edge of his vision growing dark as he struggled to breathe, fingers scrabbling weakly at the chain. Suddenly something hit the deck at the foot of the backstay with a heavy thud and the deadly pressure on Erwin’s throat released. Gasping for breath he fell forward onto his hands, coughing and retching as be desperately struggled to draw breath. His vision was still swimming, chest heaving, as a rough hand hauled him up, and as he stumbled to his feet he found himself face to face with Ackerman, dirk drawn and dripping with blood. The French seaman, still with the chain grasped in his hands, lay lifeless at his feet. 

“How...” Erwin started, his voice rasping in his bruised throat. Ackerman’s eyes flicked aloft to the backstay. “Quickest way down,” he replied, mouth twisting up at the corner. “All right?” Erwin nodded, wincing as he flexed his neck, but before he could answer, Ackerman was off and running, plunging down the companion and into the heaving mass of men in the waist, heading for the mainmast. 

As Erwin stooped to retrieve his sword, the sounds of the battle were already dying away, the gunfire becoming more sporadic. All three sails were loosed now and slowly, slowly the bows of the ship began to turn away from the shore. 

“Hard a starboard!” Erwin called to the helmsman, his voice hoarse and rasping. The man put the wheel over and the corvette continued turning, gathering way as the wind filled her sails. For a wild moment Erwin thought they would escape unscathed but before they could put sufficient distance between the ship and the shore, there was a flash in the darkness as the shore batteries opened fire and seconds latter a hail of canon shot thudded into the hull of the ship between wind and water, sending lethal splinters flying across the deck. Another flash from the shore batteries but this time the shot fell short, splashing harmlessly into the sea aft of the _Titan_ ’s larboard quarter. The ship was gaining way now, pushing out into the Brest road, driven forward by the stiff offshore wind that had hampered their long hard pull into the anchorage. The confused sounds of battle were dying away, the ringing clash of swords, and the crack of pistol and musket replaced by the cries and groans of the injured and dying. And there, racing up the quarterdeck companion, was Midshipman Nanaba, face bloody but beaming. 

“Captain Smith sir!” they gasped breathlessly, “they’re yielding! The French are yielding!” 

“Strike those colours, Mr Nanaba,” Erwin ordered. The midshipman turned on their heel, dashing back down the companion, and a minute later the French colours were racing down the mast to be replaced by the British ensign. As the Union Jack broke out at the _Titan_ 's masthead, fluttering free in the wind as the first hint of dawn crept over the horizon, a ragged cheer ran through the ship. 

The few remaining French sailors still putting up a gallant resistance on the quarterdeck threw down their weapons and backed against the mizzenmast. 

“Where’s your captain?” Erwin directed his question to a young French ensign doing his best to stand tall among the group of despondent seamen. 

“There,” the young man replied, pointing to the lifeless form of the captain slumped against the larboard rail, blood congealing around the bullet wound in his temple. “Il est mort.” 

“Lieutenants?” 

The young man shrugged and shook his head. 

“Then I will presume you are the senior officer in charge of this ship.” Erwin drew himself up to his full height, wincing as the graze along his ribs smarted and burned “do you yield?” 

“Oui, monsieur,” the young man replied, and presented the hilt of his sword to Erwin with all the dignity he could muster. 

Erwin accepted the sword, and regarded it gravely. 

“You have fought bravely, there is no dishonor in yielding after such a hard won fight. You do your men honour.” 

Erwin turned the sword in his hand and passed it back to the young ensign, ignoring the tears that tracked silently down his cheeks. 

“You and your men are now prisoners of His Majesty’s Royal Navy and you will be treated with the dignity afforded to all such prisoners of war. Your wounded will receive medical treatment as soon as we rejoin my ship. Until such time I must ask you to lead your men below where you will remain under guard.” 

The young man swallowed once and nodded, before drawing himself up to his full height to offer Erwin a formal salute, then he led his men down the quarterdeck companion into the waist, where they were secured below by the _Maria_ ’s Marines.

“Mr Nanaba,” Erwin turned to the midshipman who had returned to the quarterdeck, “where are Mr Darlett and Mr Ackerman?” 

Nanaba shook their head and looked away and Erwin’s heart froze in his chest.

“Where are they?” he repeated, “where did you last see them?” 

“Mr Darlett,” Nanaba started, but their voice was choked by a sob, “Mr Darlett fell in the waist sir.” 

“And Mr Ackerman?” The blood in Erwin’s veins was turning to ice. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry sir, I saw him making his way for’ard to the foremast, but the fighting was right thick there and I never saw him after.” 

For a moment, it was as though the world had stopped turning, the tides stopped flowing, the sounds of wind and water, the cries of the dead and injured all fell away, and Erwin was aware of nothing but the cold rain on his face. A shudder ran up his spine jolting him back into the present. He had to move, he had to _know_. 

“Mr Nanaba, take the quarterdeck.”

And then he was stumbling down the companion, tripping over bodies and debris as he struggled forward. It was only when he reached the waist that he realized how ferocious the fighting had been, how hard won their victory. French seamen lay dead and dying everywhere he looked and here and there among the bodies he saw the tell tale white armband of a Maria. He found Farlan Church for’ard of the main mast, his body almost torn in two by a splinter from the canon shot that had torn through the hull. Lieutenant Darlett was in the waist where the fighting had been thickest, his body pierced through with multiple wounds. But to his fear and relief, nowhere could he see the tell tale dark hair and compact form he was looking for. 

“Ackerman!” he called, but there was no reply. 

Erwin stumbled forward through the carnage; blind with the kind of mortal fear he had never known in battle. At last he found him, sitting at the foot of the foremast, head slumped forward, dark hair plastered to his forehead by the steadily falling rain, Erwin’s midshipman’s dirk lying on the deck beside him. 

And he was still, so still. 

“Levi…” the word was barely a whisper, barely a sob.

Against all the odds, against the fear that threatened to unman Erwin, Levi raised his head.

“Oh thank god…” Erwin started, but as he met Levi’s gaze, the words died in his throat. His eyes were cold and grey and clouded, the spark that kindled such longing in Erwin’s breast, snuffed out.

It was only then that Erwin noticed the small body that Levi cradled in his lap, the tell-tale red hair spilling from the dark sailor’s cap, the green eyes staring wide and unseeing, the bloody gash torn across her throat.

Erwin’s blood ran cold.

“Levi…what…why…why is she here? I ordered her. I _ordered_ her.” Burning anger welled up to thaw the icy grip of horror. “She disobeyed my direct order. She…”

He didn’t see Levi move, but suddenly he was on his feet, snatching up the dirk, surging forward, and before Erwin could think, before he could breathe, he was on his knees, his own blade pressed against his throat. 

“I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you,” Levi spat. “Who do you think loosed the foresail, who do you think went aloft? It’s only because of _her_ that you got the fucking ship under way. So don’t you dare, don’t you fucking _dare_ …”

The blade of the dirk bit into Erwin’s throat and he could feel the warm blood trickling down his neck into his collar. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his right hand and closed it around the blade. 

“Levi, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that your friends are dead.”

“Farlan too?” Levi asked, eyes blowing wide. 

Erwin tightened his grip on the dirk, blood running down his wrist, dripping onto the deck. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

“They died for you!” Levi snarled. “For this shitty fucking ship. They threw their lives away for nothing. _Nothing_. And now I’m going to drag you down too.”

“Nothing?” Erwin’s voice was rising in his desperation to reach the man he knew. “Who was the one that killed your friends, my subordinates? Was it me? Was it you?”

Levi blinked, hesitated and stepped backwards. He stared at Erwin for a moment as if waking from a trance and in that instant all the fight went out of him. He dropped the dirk and slumped to his knees on the deck, head falling forward.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “It was my fault, I shouldn’t have let her come, but she begged me, she begged us, she wouldn’t be left behind, we were all she had. It was my own arrogance, my own shitty fucking pride. I thought if I kept them with me I could keep them safe. But I killed them, I let her die, they’re dead because of me.”

The pike wound that burned across Erwin’s side, the bloody gash in his palm, the livid bruises blooming around his throat, they were nothing compared to the pain that twisted in his heart in the face of Levi’s grief and desolation. 

“No,” he said, “it wasn’t you, it was the Titans. It was the French that killed your friends. But they fought till the end and they died bravely. Honour their sacrifice. Fight. We are at war Levi, and we need your strength, your skill, your exceptional courage.” 

Slowly, cautiously, aching in every limb, Erwin pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand.

Levi lifted his head and gazed up at him. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. But as dawn crept over the grey horizon, the smallest of sparks kindled in his eyes and Erwin saw it, caught it in his own bright gaze, the smallest ember of trust and hope. 

“The _Maria_ , needs you Levi, _I_ need you. Will you fight with me?” 

Levi didn’t answer but he took Erwin’s hand, heedless of the blood dripping onto the deck, and stood up on shaking legs, unsteady as a green landsman. 

“Come on Mr Ackerman,” Erwin said, wincing as he squeezed the smaller man’s hand, “let’s get this prize back to our ship.” 

The rain had stopped and day was breaking as the two men made their way aft. The _Maria_ ’s seamen were already manning halliards and braces, the sails trimmed and drawing full in the stiff offshore wind. A red dawn was coming up fast as the _Titan_ followed the ebb tide out to where the _Maria_ was waiting, the first light of morning staining her sails crimson as blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have explained this before, but in case it's not obvious by now...As per historical convention, ship names are italicised, e.g. HMS _Maria_. However sailors were also called after the name of their ship, in which case the name is not italicised. So HMS _Maria_ 's sailors are known as Marias. Please note that during the Napoleonic Wars the British Royal Navy had ships named HMS _Flirt_ and HMS _Fairy_ , and yes, their seamen would have been known as Flirts and Fairies....


	12. Bless Them and Keep Them

The day had dawned dull and overcast, bruised clouds scudding across a sullen sky, as the _Titan_ corvette came up alongside HMS _Maria_ where she rode at single anchor off the Petit Minou. As the corvette backed her sails and came too, the seamen lining the _Maria_ ’s side greeted her with three rousing cheers, which died away into somber silence as they took in the shattered state of the prize, the blood that ran from her scuppers, staining her dark sides darker still. 

Lieutenant Zacharias greeted Erwin at the gangway with a solemn salute as he came aboard. 

“Captain Smith sir.”

Behind the tall lieutenant stood the doctor, fidgeting with agitation, their expression uncharacteristically grave. 

“Erwin,” Hanji cut in before he could return Zacharias’ salute. “Magnolia’s gone. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“They’re with Ackerman.” Erwin replied dully. His head was starting to throb with exhaustion and spent adrenaline. 

“God dammit,” Hanji swore, “Of all the foolish….where are they? Are they all right? Wait till I get my hands on that stupid, reckless…” 

“Hanji,” Erwin interrupted their tirade, placing his roughly bandaged hand on their shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything else. 

“Oh god.” All the colour drained from Hanji’s face. “No. I should have known. If I’d known I could have stopped her. I swear Erwin…” 

“You couldn’t have stopped her Hanji, not even Ackerman or Church were able stop her. She wouldn’t be parted from them.”

“Church?” 

Erwin shook his head. 

“Ackerman’s not…?” 

“No.” Erwin didn’t let them finish the question, couldn’t bear to hear it voiced. “Ackerman’s alive, he’s aboard the prize.” 

Hanji sighed deeply, pushing their spectacles up onto their forehead and pinching the bridge of their nose, sorrow creasing the corner of their eyes. Erwin squeezed their shoulder, wincing as the wound in his palm smarted. When Hanji settled their glasses back in place a moment later they were business like once more. The dead could be mourned later, first there were the injured to be tended to.

“How many wounded?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” Erwin replied. “A dozen Marias, more French, they fought bravely.” 

“And you? You’re injured too.”

Hanji reached forward and unceremoniously yanked Erwin’s bloodstained collar aside, to peer at his bruised and bloodied throat. The nick from Ackerman’s blade had stopped bleeding, but the bruises on his neck ached as he angled his head away from the doctor. 

“It doesn’t look deep,” they said, “but that could have been nasty. A hair’s breadth to the left and they’d have got your external carotid artery. That was a close call.”

“Yes. Yes it was.” Erwin agreed, unsure what else to say. 

“You’ve got the luck of the devil Erwin Smith.”

Erwin smiled weakly, grateful when Hanji turned their attention to transferring the wounded from the corvette. 

It wasn’t luck that had stayed Ackerman’s hand. He had been ready to kill him, of that Erwin was sure. He had seen it in his eyes, cold and hard as flint. But if not luck, then what? Why had Levi spared him? The question was plaguing Erwin but there was no time to ponder it there and then with the prize to be secured and the injured seen to. 

Erwin sent the _Maria_ ’s remaining detachment of Marines aboard the _Titan_ to secure the ship, then the wounded were brought aboard, British and French alike, where they were subjected to Dr Zoe’s rough but efficient care. Pressing two of the _Maria_ ’s seamen into service as surgeons mates, the doctor triaged the wounded, sending the most seriously injured below to the cockpit, while the walking wounded were sent down to their berths to patiently wait their turn. 

After the living had been seen to, the _Maria_ ’s dead were brought aboard and placed on the forecastle forward of the fore mast, five bodies in all, shrouded in tarpaulin. Ackerman carried Magnolia’s body aboard and placed her gently on the deck beside Church, before drawing the heavy tarpaulin over the line of bodies. 

In the fo’c’sle of the Titan, a much longer line of French dead lay; over a dozen in all, testament to the ferocity of the fighting, and the courage of the men who had defended their ship with their lives. 

Once the dead were laid out with dignity, the few French seamen that remained on deck were sent below to join the other prisoners. Erwin himself went back aboard the prize to ensure the prisoners had sufficient food and water below deck and were treated with the respect dictated by the Articles of War. Then he stationed the Marines to stand guard, with the Titan’s brass swivel guns loaded with grape shot and trained on the hatches, lest the prisoners mistake civility for complacency.

It was only once the _Titan_ had been secured and the wounded and prisoners attended to that Erwin went below to his cabin where he submitted to the less than tender care of his steward Dawkins. He stood patiently, aching with fatigue, as the irascible old man helped him peel off his ruined jacket and bloodstained breeches, before cleaning his wounds, muttering under his breath all the time about doing the bloody doctor’s work. Luckily the pike wound across Erwin’s torso was superficial, though it had torn his shirt and jacket beyond repair, the spear point had barely grazed his ribs. The nick in his throat was similarly shallow, though it had bled profusely and the collar of his shirt was stiff with blood. The most serious wound was the one in his hand, where Ackerman’s blade, _his_ blade, the one he had honed himself to lethal perfection, had cut deep and straight across his palm. 

“Oughtn get the doctor to stitch that sir,” Dawkins muttered as he swabbed roughly at the wound with tincture of iodine. 

“The doctor has more serious injuries to attend to.” Erwin replied, flinching as the spirit smarted in the wound.

“Well get the darn sailmaker to do it then,” the man grumbled. 

Once his wounds were dressed and Dawkins had helped him into a fresh uniform, Erwin made his way up to the quarterdeck for the reading of the quarter bills, his heart cold and heavy as a stone.

The men stood in silent ranks on deck as Erwin took up his place on the quarterdeck beside Lieutenant Zacharias. The captain stood to attention as his first lieutenant read the quarter bills, calling out the tally of the living and the dead. Midshipman Nanaba answered for Lieutenant Darlett’s division, the lieutenant was gone and the ratings decimated. Every other name was met with “Injured, sir", and the lieutenant’s own name and those of two seamen were answered “Dead, sir”, the midshipman’s voice choking and breaking on the response. The words washed over Erwin; more deaths lying at his door, more weight to his burden of guilt. He hadn’t registered the name Zacharias had called, one more in the litany of the dead, but the response roused him from his torpor; it was the devastating finality with which the word was spoken.

“Dead.” 

Ackerman was standing to attention; eyes fixed straight ahead, hands balled into fists by his side.

“Able Seaman Alexander Magnolia.” Zacharias’ voice boomed across the deck. 

“Dead. Sir.” Ackerman replied. He didn't flinch, didn’t blink and though his voice was steady, devoid of emotion, Erwin swore those two words would follow him to his grave. 

The bills read, Erwin dismissed the ship’s company, his chest tightening with grief as he watched Ackerman disappear down the aft hatch without a backward glance. It took all Erwin’s resolve not to follow him, the desire to go to him, to offer what? Comfort? Regret? Apology? It was so strong it almost dragged him to his knees. But as captain of the _Maria_ he had other duties to attend to, and now was not the place for sentiment, no matter how deeply or earnestly felt. 

“So what news of the main attack?” Erwin asked, turning to Lieutenant Zacharias. 

Zacharias sniffed and frowned. 

“I can’t rightly say, sir. The lookout saw three vessels slip past an hour after the boats put off. They were hull down but we’re sure they were the bomb vessels. After that, nothing. Not a thing. The night was thick and it was blowing hard, but I’m sure we’d have seen or heard something if the attack went ahead. I can’t say for sure Erwin,” Zacharias lowered his voice as he slipped into the familiar address, “but I’d bet my life that the attack was called off.” 

Erwin stared at his lieutenant in horror, suddenly he felt impossibly weary, weighed down by the awful dawning realisation that his men had lost their lives for nothing. 

“Pray God I’m wrong, but…” Zacharias shook his head.

“I pray so too,” Erwin sighed. “We’ll find out tomorrow when we report to Admiral Lord Pixis. Take the _Titan_ in tow and set a course for Finisterre, Mr Zacharias, we’ll drop anchor there to bury the dead, then proceed to Ushant to rendezvous with the fleet in the morning.”

“Aye, aye captain. I’m sorry Erwin, you did what you could, you couldn’t do more.”

“Thank you Mike,” Erwin said, “I’m going below to write the report, call me if the prisoners cause any trouble.” 

“Aye sir,” Zacharias replied, “and Erwin? See if you can get some rest. You look like death.”

“I will Mike, after the report is written.” 

Erwin saluted his first lieutenant and took his leave. 

Below in his cabin, the captain sat down heavily at his desk and pulled the Maria’s muster book from its drawer. Opening the book, he turned the pages until he reached F. Darlett, Ltnt. Picking his pen up awkwardly in his bandaged hand, he carefully wrote the letters DD beside his name; Discharged Dead. Turning through the pages he found the names of the two able seamen from Darlett’s division, Jones and Carlton, who had also been killed aboard the Titan. His hand was smarting painfully, the pen clumsy in his fingers as he turned to the last entries in the muster. Beside Church’s name he inscribed the fateful letters, but as he moved to Magnolia’s entry the pen slipped in his grasp, breaking the nib and blotting the page, the ink seeping into the entry below; L. Ackerman. 

Sighing heavily, Erwin threw down his broken pen and placed his head in his hands. 

It was the watch bell that roused him. The report still needed to be written, injury or no, and since Erwin had no clerk, there was only one alternative. 

The heavy clouds had cleared to the east and pale sunlight was sparkling on choppy white wave crests as Erwin made his way on deck, but the mood aboard the _Maria_ was still subdued. Looking for’ard, Erwin could see the sailmaker’s mate at his grim work on the forecastle. The tarpaulin that had covered their fallen shipmates had been pulled aside and the man was stitching the bodies into their hammocks, two cannonballs at their feet and a stitch through their nose. At the far end of the row of bodies, Ackerman crouched, head bowed, a long sailmaker’s needle in his hand. Making his way forward to the fo’c’sle, Erwin found him crouched over Magnolia’s body, carefully sewing her into her hammock, her shroud and final resting place. Beside him, lay Church’s body, already prepared for burial. Erwin watched silently as Ackerman carefully drew the canvas closed around Magnolia’s pale face, omitting the traditional stitch through the nose. 

“Levi,” he said, reaching down and placing one hand on the man’s shoulder, “you don’t have to do that.” 

Ackerman tensed but didn’t look up, just carried on sewing. 

“Let Jamieson take care of that,” Erwin nodded towards the sailmaker’s mate. 

“No,” Ackerman replied. “No one else is touching her.” 

Jamieson looked up curiously but on seeing the captain’s grim face he quickly returned to his work. 

“As you will,” Erwin said. “When you’re finished, please come below to my cabin, I need your help.” 

“I’m finished,” Ackerman replied, pulling the final stitch through and securing it with a careful knot. Cutting the thread with his knife, Ackerman sat back on his heels and gazed down at his friends’ shrouded bodies. Erwin watched him for a moment, a surge of compassion filling his chest, before he turned away, unwilling to intrude on such private grief. With a heavy heart, he made his way forward, Ackerman following after him, silent as a shadow. When they reached the captain’s day cabin, the Marine sentry opened the door and Erwin ushered him inside. 

“Please,” Erwin gestured to the chair in front of his desk, “sit down.” 

Ackerman glanced at the chair, but remained standing. His face was closed, utterly expressionless, but his eyes, dark as a winter storm, spoke of fathomless grief. In the face of such profound sorrow, Erwin was at a loss for words. 

_I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. 

_I would do anything in my power to bring them back._

_I would exchange my life for theirs a thousand times over._

_I would do anything to ease your pain._

It was Ackerman who spoke first, his voice flat and weary. 

“What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to burden you at a time like this,” Erwin started, “but I need your help. The dispatch for Admiral Lord Pixis must be written, and I’m afraid, well…”

Erwin held up his injured hand; blood was already seeping through the bandage and the end was coming loose. 

Ackerman glared at Erwin’s hand for a moment before making a small sound of annoyance and reaching across the desk he seized his wrist. Erwin jerked his hand back in surprise, but Ackerman only tightened his grip, tugging him closer and angling his hand to catch the light from the cabin’s skylight. 

“Did Hanji do this? Thought they called themselves a fucking doctor.”

“No,” Erwin replied, “Dawkins did, I didn’t want to trouble Hanji.” 

“Well he did a shit job of it.” Ackerman muttered. “I’ll do it.” 

“Really there’s no need,” Erwin said, somewhat taken aback. He was painfully aware of the strength of Ackerman’s grip on his wrist, the rough fingers pressing against his pulse. 

Ackerman dropped Erwin’s hand, and without so much as a by-your-leave, disappeared into his sleeping cabin, emerging a moment later with the pitcher and basin from the washstand. 

“Sit down,” he said. Erwin sat.

Without preamble or apology, Ackerman undid the fraying knot and unwrapped the bloodied bandage from Erwin’s palm. The wound was sticky with congealed blood, his palm stained with iodine, and small flecks of dirt, which Dawkins had missed, still clung to the edges of cut. 

“Fucking disgusting…” Ackerman muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Pulling a pristine handkerchief from his pocket, Ackerman dipped it into the basin of water and, lifting Erwin’s hand, began swabbing the wound clean. He worked carefully, methodically, frowning in concentration, dark hair slipping from his queue and falling over his eyes. He was shockingly gentle, his careful ministrations a world away from Dawkins’ perfunctory care, and there was something so intimate in the act that it stopped Erwin’s breath in his throat.

“Hurts?” Ackerman looked up suddenly, pausing in his task.

“No, no, not really.” Erwin shook his head.

Ackerman frowned in response. “You stopped breathing.” 

“Did I? Sorry.” Erwin swallowed thickly, feeling strangely light headed. 

Ackerman regarded him silently for a moment, expression unreadable.

“At least the wound is clean,” he said carefully.

“Yes, it’s a good blade.” Erwin replied.

Ackerman shot him a sharp look. 

“That was a stupid thing to do. I could have taken your hand off.”

“Better my hand than my head.”

Ackerman scowled and returned his attention to cleaning the wound. 

“Why didn’t you?” Erwin asked softly. 

There was no reply. Ackerman exhaled a short huff of breath but said nothing and Erwin couldn’t help noticing the flush of colour that crept up the back of his neck beneath his queue. 

“Do you have any more bandages?” he asked, not meeting Erwin’s gaze. 

“There should be some in the small chest by the wash stand.” 

Ackerman disappeared into Erwin’s sleeping cabin again, and returned with a fresh bandage, which he tied around the clean wound, securing the ends and tucking them in neatly. When he was finished, he lifted Erwin’s hand again and turned it over carefully to examine his handiwork, running his thumb lightly over his bandaged palm. He opened his mouth as if to speak, before turning away, brow creasing into a frown, but his fingers curled round Erwin’s hand, holding him still. It was a gesture that spoke of sorrow, regret, and the simple need for human contact. Careful not to disturb his fresh dressing, Erwin closed his fingers around Ackerman’s smaller hand and simply held him for a moment before reluctantly pulling his hand away. 

“Thank you, Levi.”

Without a word, Ackerman turned away and, picking up a pen and sheet of paper, sat down at the desk. 

Erwin cleared his throat, and began to dictate. 

“His Majesty’s Ship _Maria_ , at sea, third February 1802.

Dear Sir, I have the honour of making known to you for the information of their Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, that on Tuesday, the 2nd instant, at 12 midnight, I succeeded in bringing out the French corvette _Titan_ , of 18 guns, and 120 men, commanded by Captain de Clieu, from under the shore batteries of Pointe du Portzic, after a most desperate resistance being made first by her crew and then by the shore batteries. Notwithstanding their spirited defence, nothing was equal to the bravery of the men of HMS _Maria_ , the gallantry of whose conduct could not but merit the highest commendation. Lieutenant Darlett led a party of Marines over the bows and engaged the enemy in the waist where the fighting was most desperate, Midshipman Nanaba led a party over larboard to batten down hatches and secure the watch below, Midshipman Ackerman led the topman, while I led a division to secure the quarterdeck and cut the aft cables. Both officers and men have abundant claims on my gratitude. In particular I owe infinite obligations and gratitude to Mr Midshipman Ackerman, a brave and worthy officer…”

Ackerman stopped writing and looked up, scowling at Erwin, his face flushed. 

“I’m not writing that shit.” 

“I believe it is my place as captain to acknowledge the gallantry of my officers.” Erwin held his gaze. “Please continue.”

Ackerman muttered something under his breath, but began writing again. 

“Where was I? Ah yes….a brave and worthy officer, also Able Seamen Church and Magnolia, whose courage and alacrity in going aloft to loose the sails, saved the ship from the fire of the shore batteries. It is with heart felt regret that I must state the loss of five brave men killed and 11 injured, 3 severely. 

Please list the following in the margin Ackerman. 

A return of killed and wounded of HMS _Maria_ under the command of Captain Erwin Smith: 

Lieutenant Flagon Darlett, Able Seamen Jones, Carlton, Church and Magnolia. 

I have the honour to be, Sir, &c

Erwin Smith, Esquire, captain of His Majesty’s Ship _Maria_.”

Erwin stopped dictating, and for a moment the cabin was silent but for the steady scratch of Ackerman’s pen. When he finished writing, he looked up. 

“Want me to sign it for you?”

“No, thank you, I had better do that myself, though I have no doubt you’d make a much better job of my signature than I can right now.” 

Ackerman shrugged and handed the immaculately written report to Erwin, careful not to smudge the ink. 

“Thank you Levi, you have my infinite gratitude in more ways than one.” 

Ackerman snorted and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Can I go now?” 

“There’s one more thing, and it pains me to raise this, did Church or Magnolia leave any instructions with you in the event of their…” 

“No.” Ackerman didn’t wait for him to finish. 

“They have wages to be paid, and they’ll be due a share of the prize money later. I can have the purser credit it to your account if you are the nearest they had to next of kin.” 

“Farlan…” Ackerman started, “Church had a sister, in London I think, I don’t know where but he got letters from her sometimes. They’re probably in his sea chest.” 

“And Isabel?” 

Ackerman’s lips drew into a thin line as he shook his head. 

“No, she had no one. Give hers to the widows’ men.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Ackerman nodded.

“That’s very generous of you Levi.” 

He shrugged, frowning and looking away.

“I don’t want it.”

“In that case I’ll see to it that the purser amends the accounts accordingly. There’s just one last thing,” Erwin paused, hesitating to continue, “the men will expect an auction, but if you don’t want that, I can…” 

Tradition dictated that when a crewmate died or was killed in action, their clothes and belongings were auctioned before the mast, with the money raised benefitting the dead man’s widow or next of kin. 

“I don’t care.” Ackerman replied flatly “Do what you want.” 

Erwin regarded him for a moment. 

“I don’t believe that,” he said quietly. “You do care. You care a great deal. They were like family to you, weren’t they?”

Ackerman stood up so abruptly the chair almost tipped the over. 

“The _were_ family.” 

“Levi…” Erwin started, reaching one hand out to stop him, but before he could get to his feet, the door had slammed shut and Ackerman was gone. 

The sun was setting as the crew of HMS _Maria_ assembled on deck at the second dogwatch, the whole sky aflame with glorious shades of deep gold, crimson and burnt orange. With sails backed, the _Maria_ rolled and wallowed in the heavy swell.

The bosun’s pipes shrilled as Captain Erwin Smith, an imposing sight in best dress uniform and sword, came on deck to join his men. A board draped with the red ensign lay ready at the gangway, beside the five shrouded bodies. The pipes shrilled again and the men removed their hats and bowed their heads. The ship was utterly silent, but for the wind in the rigging and the hollow rattle of the deadeyes, as the captain began to speak.

“We therefore commit these bodies to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the Sea shall give up her dead, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who at his coming shall change our vile body, that it may be like his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”

The bosun’s mates lifted the first shrouded body onto the plank and draped the ensign over it.

“Lieutenant Flagon Darlett.” Erwin spoke the name of his fallen lieutenant with dignity and reverence.

Holding the ensign in place, the men lifted one end of the plank and let the body slide slowly into the sea. 

“Able seaman John Jones.” 

The second body fell with a splash.

“Able seaman William Carlton.” 

The third. Erwin cleared his throat. 

“Able seaman Farlan Church.” 

A gull flew keening overhead. Erwin paused, waiting for the mates to raise the final body to the gangway. 

“Able seaman Isabel Magnolia.”

A shocked whispering ran through the ship’s company and every head turned towards the captain. Every head but one; Levi Ackerman stood straight, eyes forward, still and silent as stone, as Isabel’s body splashed into the sea and was swallowed by the waves. 

Erwin waited for silence to settle over the company again before continuing. 

“The Lord bless them and keep them. The Lord make his face to shine upon them and be gracious unto them. The Lord lift up his countenance upon them, and give them peace. Amen.” 

“Amen.” The ship’s company repeated. 

“Company dismissed!” 

The men dispersed, the watch on duty returning to their stations, the watch below disappearing down the hatches to their berths. Ackerman alone remained standing by the gangway, staring out over the waves until the sun dipped below the horizon painting the sea with scarlet and gold. On the quarterdeck, Erwin stood and watched him, hands clenched tightly behind his back, the sharp pain from the wound in his palm as nothing to the fierce bright pain that twisted in his chest. 

Despite his bone weary exhaustion, sleep eluded Erwin that night. After tossing and turning in his cot throughout the first watch, he finally got up, dressed, and went on deck where he found Midshipman Carter on watch. Stifling a yawn, the youngster saluted the captain as he approached. 

“Captain Smith sir.”

“Mr Carter. Anything to report?”

“No sir, all quiet sir.” 

“Who’s relieving you at the end of your watch Carter?”

“Midshipman Nanaba sir.” 

“Very good.” 

The young man fidgeted nervously, clearly waiting for the captain to speak again, before plucking up his courage and asking, “Will that be all sir?” 

“Ah yes,” Erwin replied, “As you were.”

The midshipman saluted and retreated to the lee side of the quarterdeck where he did his best to look alert and watchful. 

Erwin paced the quarterdeck, restless and distracted, but the confined space did little to relieve his fretful exhaustion. Making his way down to the gun deck, he allowed his feet to carry him the length of the ship and down the forward hatch to the dim twilight of the berth deck. Stooping to avoid the deckhead beams, Erwin made his way between the swinging hammocks of the sleeping crew, navigating in the darkness by that sixth sense that all sailors possessed after years at sea. He paid little heed to where his feet were taking him until he found himself standing outside the cabin next to the carpenter’s. He stopped and blinked, squinting in the low light of the single lantern that lit the ‘tween decks. The door to Ackerman’s tiny cabin was closed, mute and silent, no chink of light showing beneath. And yet Erwin knew with the same certainty that he knew his own heart was beating in his chest that, on the other side of that thin canvas partition, Ackerman lay awake. Awake and utterly, irrevocably alone. Without conscious thought, Erwin lifted his hand and placed it on the door handle. Everything in him ached to lift the latch, to push open the door, to reach out, to take that grim grieving man in his arms and hold him, just hold him, until the tides stopped turning and the sun ceased to set. But beneath the overwhelming wave of compassion, Erwin could feel the undertow of desire, tugging at him, pulling at him, threatening to draw him down. Unnatural, sinful desire, the slightest taint of which could ruin a man for life. Or worse. Erwin may have made his peace with his own peculiar nature long since, but he was under no illusion as to the risk involved. Levi had already lost everything; his ship, his family, his freedom, what little prospects he had left rested on his ability to scale the precarious ladder of promotion to the quarterdeck. If Erwin gave in to such selfish desires, not only would he risk ruining Ackerman’s prospects before they had the chance to flourish, he also risked loosing his life. Reluctantly, weary in body and spirit, Erwin lifted his hand from the latch, turned, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Widow's men were fictional seamen who were named on the musters of Royal Navy ships so that their wages could be distributed to the widows and families of fallen shipmates. By giving Isabel's wages to the widow's men, Levi is effectively donating the money to charity. 
> 
> The clothes and possessions of dead seamen really were auctioned off before the mast. Not only did this raise money for their widows, it also helped to redistribute clothing and other items such as pipes and tobacco that were often scarce at sea. RN muster books of this period have a column for "Dead men's clothes". The sum a sailor pledged at auction would be entered in this column and deducted from his wages. 
> 
> When dead seamen were sown into their hammocks for burial at sea, the stitch through the nose was supposed to ensure that they really were dead. 
> 
> PS The eagle eyed among you might have noticed that I've shifted the chronology of this story forward by 4 years, for Reasons.


End file.
